Attention
by FoxyBoxy
Summary: A few drabbles based on the Gangster AU made by Super Risu's badass drawings. Pharah x Mercy mostly.
1. Nightclub

**Chapter 1**

The loud noises of the seedy nightclub could make lost souls come back from the dead.

A pensive, striking figure in the far back couldn't care less. With how well built the figure looked from afar and two gorgeous women fawning all over on either side, you could easily mistake that person for a man. A very confident, dangerous man. Someone to never mess with.

The family symbol dangling down the sharp neck was proof enough.

But Fareeha Amari, the figure in question, was anything but.

The ladies kept pressing themselves against her, begging for the gangster's attention. But her mind was elsewhere. Staring at the empty dance floor in front of them, there was only one person on Fareeha's mind, despite all efforts.

It's been almost a month since she last saw _her_.

A memory from awhile ago flickered into her mind.

* * *

"Sit down, Fareeha."

Her tone was not as harsh as she thought it would be. Fareeha had to ask Angela if she was off the hook for the earlier fuck up that happened before. "Am I forgiven for the police chase? No punishment...?"

The crime boss kept looking at the moon, her back turned towards her, a light jacket hanging on one shoulder.

Fareeha sighed. It was not usual for Mercy to behave like this. She said down on the chair as she was told to, without soft protests or teasing this time. There was a time in their... contract agreements that the mere thought of teasing her boss was out of the question.

Good thing those days are over.

In return, Angela took a puff from her expensive Cuban cigar. She asked Pharah what date it was today very casually.

"January 23rd?" Mercy's right hand woman asked curiously. Then she remembered the importance of the date. "Isn't that..."

"Yes," Angela said, the uncharacteristic waiver in her voice catching Fareeha's attention. "Today, exactly twelve years ago, the Shimada clan ceased to exist." An old newspaper rag was thrown towards Fareeha. She picked it up, reading the front article.

It was hard to miss.

 **"NOTORIOUS CRIME GANG SHIMADA DRAGONS**... Yakuza bosses... kidnap youngest Nobel Prize winner..."

Pharah looked up to Mercy. No response.

"Dr Angela Ziegler was last seen..."

Mercy took another draw from her cigar. The tension around them could be cut with a knife.

Pharah patiently waited for the boss to continue, a reprimand concerning the chase practically forgotten.

"The networks grew bored of me and my disappearance after six months. As far as the mainstream is concerned, _that_ Angela is dead."

Whenever Dr Ziegler recalled her life before she became a mafia boss, it was like seeing a film reel. No way she was that person back then. It cannot be. "I was a different person. I was... normal? Perhaps. I did not come from an established cosca like you. But that was a long time ago."

Angela saw her younger self climb the steps up in order to receive her Nobel Prize. She had essentially created immortality with her extensive research on nano-machines. She had achieved a miracle in science. With that project being successful, it was only a matter of time cancer would've become part of the history books.

It was supposed to be the happiest day of her life.

Until they came.

They killed everyone in sight. Including her beloved parents, who were in the front row for that special event.

The Shimadas took her hostage, and, eventually, kidnapped her to their headquarters for their own use. She will never forget the blood of her parents on her hands. How powerless she felt during that horrible night.

Fareeha gritted her teeth in response. This did not go unnoticed by the boss.

They locked her up into a colourless cell, she continued. The only connection she had with the outside world was an unreachable window, with the moon clearly in sight. Every night, she carved a roman line on the walls of her prison.

One.

Five.

Fifteen.

One hundred and eight.

Until she stopped, giving up on her freedom completely.

She attempted to kill herself on that particular night. But the Shimadas brought her back through her own technology.

It couldn't have been more ironic.

They never bothered to give her anything that she could use to harm herself from that day forth.

But they never knew were to search her properly for concealed items. As they say, women have more hiding places than men.

Fareeha raised an eyebrow in that regard. Mercy let a small smile slip through her mask of ice, placing a slender finger on her lips.

"It's not where you first thought, Fareeha."

After seeing the proud Amari hide a blush from her, Angela looked back to the full moon, the small smile disappearing as she recalled past events.

Where the only trace of life she had beyond the four corners of her cell was the moon and nothing else.

"They had told me the media and scientists weren't the only ones interested in my research. That I would achieve great things through them."

They only let Angela outside her cell to 'continue' on her research.

The Shimadas wanted to profit from Dr Ziegler's research. In order to achieve profit, Angela had to produce a huge quantity of her once proudest achievement.

Through many. Many. Countless subjects.

Boss told Pharah everything that night. How she tortured innocent lives in the Shimada's name. How she had felt useless during their countless cries for help. How she felt trapped within those metal walls that kept her imprisoned.

Minute after minute.

Hour after hour.

She still doesn't know how for long she had stayed there.

 _Mercy_ , they'd cry. _Have mercy on us all!_ Their screams would never stop.

 _Mercy!_

 _ **Mercy!**_

 _ **Please!**_

Until something inside her snapped.

And Angela Ziegler was no more.

Her bodyguard stayed silent.

Everyone knew how Angela had destroyed the Shimada brothers from within. But she had never heard this part of the story. The part were Angela was a mere mortal, struggling to keep her sanity intact despite the harshness around her, day after day, without an end in sight. If the hold on the chair was any tighter, you'd think Pharah was choking someone to death.

But Fareeha kept her anger towards the deceased members of the Shimada clan to herself.

* * *

Angela started euthanizing the innocent without her kidnapper's permission. Experiment without limits on the captured criminals.

Learn how the Shimadas operated, how to kill, how to negotiate.

In a way, her tormentors became her invaluable teacher.

It couldn't have been more ironic.

Mercy started talking about the manner she orchestrated the demise of one of the most notorious criminal gangs in the city from within with precise detail. Poisoning the two leaders with untraceable venom in their system, making them paranoid of each other. How she carefully planted two valuable artefacts to be found in each other's compound, to frame one another. How that helped the brothers declare civil war, both sides of the clan shelling each other like frenzied ants, within the compound and in the streets.

Mafia historians called it the 'Battle of the Dragons'.

The people who lived through those times called that bloody war the Shimada Massacre.

No one ever suspected the poor, traumatised, _broken_ little doctor, not even the leaders themselves.

Especially the older brother. He seemed to have taken a liking for the vulnerable image she had created around her at the time.

She took advantage, but was no fool. Angela always carried a scalpel on her whenever he was around.

Just in case.

He never would've seen it coming anyway, had he tried anything.

Mercy took another drag from her cigar, pausing for a long minute. Pharah let her continue, even though every respectable mobster knew what was coming next.

There was only one winner out of that bloodbath that night. The night the two brothers tore each other apart, it gave birth to one of the most feared criminal masterminds of the entire city. After killing two pretenders with only a broken piece of glass and her carried scalpel, the remaining members all swore their loyalty to her. She built her own empire from the Shimada's ashes. Mercy didn't even lift a single finger on either brother, but she still took their lives.

After what they took away from her, it was only fair.

* * *

The crime boss still showed her bare back to her bodyguard. Leaning towards the opened window, she kept staring at the full moon.

"It's funny... I used to want to shoot down that blasted thing whenever it was in the sky. I didn't want a reminder of those days."

She finished her cigar, leaving it in the ashtray. Angela finally turned back into the room, slowly walking towards Pharah. With a new cigar in mouth, she leaned towards the Amari heiress. She didn't wait long. Pharah's zippo was already in the air to use. Angela inhaled once, and exhaled all over her protector in an immodest manner.

Fareeha never flinched when she did that. Not once. Perhaps she didn't mind.

"Now, whenever I look at the moon, I no longer think of that cell."

Fareeha stayed silent.

"It looked just like this... when you came here."

The silence between them continued. Fareeha let a little, but just a little, concern show on her stoic face.

Mercy came in front of Pharah, cigar still in hand. She stared straight into Fareeha's eyes, as if she couldn't break eye contact from them.

"It looked exactly like this."

Until Pharah asked. She had to, especially after...

"Why are you telling me this? All of this? You don't need to tell me any of this."

That seemed to stun Mercy a little. But she recovered soon enough. "Why, indeed..."

The smile that formed on her face was unlike anything that Fareeha saw before. It was a mix between a calm demeanour and a ravenous vulture. Mercy calmly walked towards Pharah, making her wonder if this was the last day of her life.

She instantly started conjuring up what she could do to escape-

"Because I swore on that day, Fareeha Amari... I swore from that day onward, that no one would ever make me beg for anything ever again."

The manner she spoke was low, soft and creamy. Almost like she wanted to place Pharah under her spell. All thoughts of escape vanished in an instant. As her bodyguard got distracted by her voice alone, Angela drew closer.

The slow sound of Angela's heels echoing in the moon lit room brought the attention of the one person she ever cared about.

True.

Mercy had considered her attraction to the Amari heiress a weakness at one point. Her powerful family were both her strongest business partner and closest rivals. But when you are involved in the mob, everything you want is a weakness that can be traced back, if you're not careful enough. After testing Fareeha many times, Angela decided it was time she wanted to... _improve_ what was between them.

What is the point of having everything, if you cannot enjoy your riches with someone forever?

She'll spare Pharah the second thought for now. Now she had... other things in mind.

"Not for my freedom. Not for my life. Nothing. I would never beg again for anything."

Mercy switched her cigar off.

Suddenly, she was all over Pharah, long legs parting to straddle the Egyptian on top of the chair, surprising the Amari heiress completely.

She essentially trapped Fareeha with no promise of escape.

This time, her smile was not inviting any sort of danger. It was... vulnerable.

Mercy placed her hand delicately on Pharah's tattooed eye, which led the hired hitman not hiding surprise towards her boss. The angelic crime boss was pleased that she had broken through the Amari heiress' stoic facade. It made her look even more beautiful than the first time she had laid eyes on her a few years before. The arrangement agreed between her and Ana Amari simply... hastened Angela's plans to lure her daughter to her side. In a very convenient manner too.

"I swore to myself..." as the Angel of Death herself started stroking Pharah's tattoo with her perfectly manicured thumb, every movement was distracting. Not that you could tell, with Pharah's perfect poker face swiftly returning between her and her emotions.

Somehow, Angela could see right through it.

Her voice dropped to an even lower pitch. "That anything that I wanted... I would have the power to take with my own two hands..."

She stopped, her hand still cupping Fareeha's stoic face.

"And that **no one** would ever stop me."

* * *

Fareeha was still in the nightclub.

She grew bored of the two floozies clinging around her. The more she drank, the more the vision she had of Angela grew stronger.

Almost like she was right in front of her. Dancing in the background. Waiting for Fareeha to join her.

Pharah glared at whoever she was seeing as Mercy, as Fareeha knew her boss wasn't there. The fake Angela smiled back at her.

The song in the background matched her heartbeat and thoughts instantly.

 **You just want attention, you don't want my heart**

 **Maybe you just hate the thought of me with someone new**

She hated that beautiful smile. Was it fake? Was it real?

What did she want from her?

 **Yeah, you just want attention, I knew from the start**

Did she just want a warm body in her bed?

Did she just see her as a voiceless bodyguard who would do anything she pleased? Like a good dog?

Fareeha unconsciously bared her teeth at the thought. No way would she ever submit to anyone like that. Not even to Mercy, the Angel of Death, herself. When did she let Angela get under her guard?

Was it that night, when they were by the pool? Or their first night together?

The night when she held both Angela Ziegler and the Angel of Death in her arms?

 **You're just making sure I'm never gettin' over you**

Or... did she want something _else_ from her? Something more than just a cheap, sexual thrill?

That thought made Fareeha Amari pause.

The possibility of Mercy wanting her to be her equal was _electrifying_.

One of the women squeezed her bicep, finally getting her attention. Now that she realises it... both of the ladies surrounding Pharah looked _just_ like her boss. Yes. One of them had their hair tied up, but she undeniably resembled her. The other looked like her a lot, but with short hair...

She narrows her eyes at the Mercy only she can see on the dance floor. She looked satisfied at Fareeha's conclusions.

So that's what's gonna be like from now on. She won't ever get Mercy out of her head, no matter how far away from her she went.

Not that she planned to stay away for long.

She just needed a break from everything. The failed operation with Zayra and the Russians. Her _cherished_ mother returning from the grave.

Angela being...

 _Your job... is to do whatever the hell **I** tell you to do. _

**Angela.**

 _Well._ She lit a Cuban cigar that devil loved to smoke, the scent cruelly reminding Fareeha of her lover. _It's time for me to return._

Fareeha was not like her mother, after all. She faced her problems, not ran away from them.

She looked at her now completely healed chest. She had rested enough.

The younger Amari placed her whiskey on the table. Now, the big question. Will Mercy welcome her with open arms? Or will she shoot her the second she returned to her head quarters?

There was one way to find out.

She noticed a drunk teenager next to the bar who had a specific set of keys hanging outside of his trousers carelessly. Keys that belonged to a unique type of sports car.

A car a boy like him should _definitely_ not own at his age.

Fareeha set her mind up. She will return to Mercy. The projection of her boss blew a kiss towards her.

But on her terms.

Even though Angela was still her boss.

In more ways than one.

* * *

Mercy looked straight into her bodyguard's eyes. The ice in her eyes seemed to have melted a little.

Perhaps Fareeha was just being a sap.

"Will you swear your loyalty to me?" she asked softly, as Angela resumed stroking her face, tracing Pharah's jawline seductively. "Or will you try to stop me?"

Pharah gave that question one long minute, her perfume and cigar aroma invading all senses. Finally, she spoke.

"Are you giving me a choice, doctor?"

Angela leaned into Pharah's face, just a few inches away from her lips. "Only you."

Fareeha left a chuckle escape from her lips, the look on Angela's face became unreadable. "What an honour."

She felt Mercy place a kiss on her jaw, stopping her playful mood. Her boss moved towards the nearest ear, the timber of her voice sending shivers all over Pharah's body. "Now. Answer me. Or I'll do it for you."

This captured the Egyptian's curiosity. She could answer for her. In what manner would she see Fareeha as...?

"Tell me how you would answer for me."

It wasn't a statement. It wasn't even a question.

It was an invitation.

Mercy's smile curled upwards at Fareeha's boldness. She was now used to it. In fact, she cherished whenever Fareeha challenged her methods.

She was the only one in her entire compound to have the guts to do so. And lived to tell the tale.

The boss pushed the bodyguard slowly into the chair, letting the jacket she had on her shoulders fall on the floor.

"You are mine, Fareeha Amari. You belong to me. Only me." She started to untie the piece of striped cloth around the loosened collar, Pharah let her do so. Mercy started tracing the tattoos on her body, as if seeing them for the first time. "As long as you breathe, you must **always** return to me."

She slid a sharp nail on top of an inked patch of her neck. Pharah hissed at the sudden sensation, but not out of pain.

"Have a tattoo that shows you belong to me. I want everyone to know that."

The sheer _possessiveness_ in Angela's voice made the former solider feel warmth all over her body.

Amongst other things.

In return, Fareeha resumed stroking the back of the sultry woman above her. Both the vulnerable, lost doctor and the ruthless, invincible crime boss looked back, staring very intensely. The Egyptian silently hoped she was the only one to see this side of her... boss?

What can she call her now?

"I believe it's high time **you** have a mark on your body, boss."

For now, she played it safe.

Mercy stayed silent to that. Fareeha wasn't going to press on. She knew her limits, even with the... possibilities now available.

Until she replied.

"Perhaps..." as she leaned to kiss her guard's neck, on the same spot she had hurt her moments earlier. "I can see the appeal of it now."

Whilst Mercy was occupied... elsewhere, Pharah started to remove her dress. Neither breaking eye contact, both watching what the other was doing.

When one became as exposed as the other, Mercy inclined towards Fareeha, her intent clear for the night.

The same goes for the many other stolen moments between them in the future.

Angela whispered tenderly towards her guard, almost like she had returned to her former self just for Pharah to see.

"Yours."

Their first kiss was full and passionate. Not once did they clash, fitting each other so well. Like they were made for each other.

They stopped for breath, both feeling like they were about to cross a line.

This would make each other more vulnerable in the cruel world they live in.

Then, Fareeha spoke.

"Mine."

No more words were needed.

* * *

She tossed a high amount of money towards the two ladies who kept her company earlier.

"Distract him," pointing towards the unsuspecting frat boy. Pharah walked towards the exit, where the daddy's pet happened to be hanging towards, as the bar was next to it. She bumped into him straight on, giving the spoilt brat one hell of a glare as he tried to look tough in front of the girls who were now walking towards him. He was surprised to see that they surrounded him like he was a celebrity.

Perhaps one of them **finally** found out who his father was.

One gave Pharah a look that begged for a reward afterwards. Anyone who was weak would've indulged that. _They_ _think I'm coming back._ Fareeha smiled, looking at her newly acquired set of keys. She didn't need them anymore. She never did.

Unsurprisingly, the drunkard took the bait immediately. He was too occupied thinking with his third leg to realise his precious set of keys were missing. By the time he did, his priceless Aventator was nowhere to be found. His whining practically invited pity from no one.

"My dad is gonna be **so** pissed! **Fuck!"**

* * *

Said SuperVeloce was being used by Fareeha in order to reach Angela as fast as possible.

Not that she asked for more than this car as transportation, wincing at how maltreated the poor Lamborghini was.

"Asshole never bothered to wash you, apparently... fuck. What is this bad smell? It's coming from..."

It was coming from the back.

"Urrrrrgh..." Poor Fareeha did the good old two plus two solution in her head. "Makes me almost regret picking you up."

The supercar seemed to growl in protest.

Fareeha patted on the steering wheel, like she was actually talking to the car. "I did say almost. You've got a new owner now."

The purr coming from the engine was good enough as a response.

Still, the smell was too much to bear. Fareeha opened the window next to her, despite the black tinted glass being an advantage for her.

Who was going to bother to see who was driving fast this late at night?

She knew the answer to that. But they'd have to _reach_ Pharah first before they could dream of chasing her.

She laughed at the idea.

Pharah shifted gear, taking advantage of the empty road due to the late hour. She will reach her destination soon enough.

Fareeha glanced at the dashboard. _Fucker even left his mobile here._ She laughed at the teenager's ineptitude. _Hah, what an id-_

Hold on a second.

She can phone Angela through his phone.

Tell her she is okay.

That she was coming home.

...

No. Giving her a surprise was far more exciting.

* * *

Two officers were doing the dull work of patrolling the border as beat cops.

"This suuuucks, Winston," the girl with a fresh face whined adorably towards her partner. "Who knew when movies said being a beat cop is the **worst** part of police work, they actually meant it?! I want some action, goddammit all!"

Winston, the sentient gorilla who was patiently doing his job, tried to keep his hyperactive partner (and friend) happy from going insane with boredom. "Why don't you try calling your lady friend, Lena? I'm sure she misses you too."

"Winston, it's three am in the morning! Poor Emily needs to sleep too... I can't phone her again. I did that an hour ago!"

Winston nodded understandably. "True, true. But I thought... with the way she talks to you during this hour, she misses you too."

Lena's pout was adorable. Winston was almost tempted to hug her just because. The little Brit had that effect on people.

"Poor Emily. Almost everyday we have to go through this. She's probably in her bed now. In the cold. All alone."

Lena's eyes widened in a manner that said it all.

"All alone!"

Crap. Somehow he made Lena feel **worse**. He hated when that happened. "Oh god Winston! I can lost her if I don't get a promotion soon! This is how it works in movies! If couples are separated for too long, it's game over! Emilyyyy~ **no!** I love you, wait, come baaaaack! Don't leave me! Noooooo-!"

She's daymaring again. There goes the hug coupon number seventy three, punched in. "There, there," Winston said almost amused as his friend bawwed on his shoulder like a baby. "I'm sure you'll reach an understanding, the both of you..."

Their distraction proved to be a big help for Fareeha.

 _Crap. Cops! I gotta slow down a bit._

She does effectively. The beeper on Lena's radar signalled the supercar did not go over the limit.

Fareeha takes time to look at the two beat cops. They look oddly familiar.

The fact that no profile of them automatically showed up in Fareeha's mind proved their identity was irrelevant.

Fareeha never forgot a face, after all. That was a distinctive Amari trait that has been passed down the family line for generations.

She pressed on, focusing on returning to her boss for the remaining trip.

"Wow!" Lena looked at the on going Lambourgini from Winston's shoulder. "That's a brand new Lamb! And a SuperVeloce to booth!" She whistles in admiration. "Phew. To own one of those beauties... although a classic Alfa Romeo Spider would be good enough for me. I can see me and Emily now..." The aspiring detective sighed as she looked into the scene only imagination can provide. "Ah, look at that sunset~"

"You don't need that car, Lena," Winston said, ever the wiser. "Never wish for items that don't belong to you. You'll lead a happier life like that."

Fantasy mode. Gone. "Yes, muuuuuuum."

Winston let go of the British squirrel. Lena wiped the tears out of her eyes in order to act tough.

"Good girl. Now, lovely car aside, that's in the past now. Let's get back to work."

"Right!"

It's a good thing Lena had technically distracted Winston when she did.

Otherwise he would've recognised the heir to the Amari Empire the second she had passed by them.

* * *

Fareeha did say that she won't phone Angela.

In fact, she isn't.

She is using someone else's phone.

Third call. Fourth call. Sevent-

"Who the fuck are you. And how did you get a hold of this number."

Ah, her royal bitchiness herself. Dammit, she _did_ miss her. Who knew.

"...Is this some sort of joke? Be careful, I can trace your call if I wanted to. Do not challenge me, whoever you are."

Fareeha stayed silent. This was too good to ruin.

"Fine."

A snap of fingers was clearly audible from the smartphone. A small smile escaped Fareeha's lips, but still stayed silent.

"You are being traced at this very moment. Sooner or later, I **will** know who you are. Speak, before it gets worse for you."

There goes Angela. Always giving obstacles a chance. Never a second one though. She does need to fix that problem, otherwise she'd have less minions following her than Junkrat-

"Speak. **Now.** "

Anyone else would've, after peeing a little. But that voice just makes Fareeha press the pedal _harder_.

She must see the route Pharah was taking if she was really tracing her. She takes a shortcut only mafiosi and getaway drivers knew about.

"The tunnel of-!" That made her pause. "You're one of us, then."

There was a little silence between them. Perhaps Fareeha could dare to think that Angela had missed her a little...?

"If you dare come here again, I will gut your whole being and feed your remains to the local cats!"

That made Fareeha slow down a little, the winds in her sails disappearing a bit.

Was she _that_ mad at her? Perhaps she did think their relationship was something-

"That's right Gerard. Crawl back from the hole you came! If you keep going to my clinic I'm going to personally strangle you for the fuck up you made!"

Was that right? She's pissed at Gerard.

!

She's pissed at _Gerard!_ Good, good. She got worried there for a second.

Pharah started the engine as loudly as possible. It's not like she'll suffer her angel's wrath for it.

 **"GERARD!"**

Boy she's mighty pissed. Fareeha was almost tempted to ask. _What did Gerard do this time?_

Maybe later. This was getting fun.

"Close the gate! Close it! I don't want to see that stupid French fucker ever again in my life!"

You'd think that voice would be a shrill one. No, not Mercy. Her imposing voice alone would make people go into the fire in order to serve her.

Allah, she loved that woman.

She'd better hurry up, or she won't see her again.

* * *

By the time the gate closed, Fareeha could have made Drive (the video game) tricks all over it, reversed and started all over again.

Hmm. If Angie didn't love this amazing car, who she'd have to choose?

...Now **that** was a tough question.

The baby blue eyed angel in question was no longer on the phone with her. Apparently she decided to shot down Gerard the second he got out of the car. As a sniper or directly? Hmm... _decisions_.

"Gerard, I have no idea what is in your system right now, but you've got **balls** man. Balls, I tell you. No matter what happens, this will be _legendary._ "

She couldn't help but agree with one of Mercy's servants, not recognising his voice. _Must be new._ Fareeha drove straight into the parking lot of Mercy's HQ. She could swear she saw a flicker of light from the window the local sniper usually hangs about. It was hard to see with all windows pulled up after her chance encounter with the cops.

 _Must be her._ Gerard must've fucked up big tim- is that her parking spot, all empty and alone?

Holy fuck, it is!

* * *

Unknowingly to Fareeha, Mercy had prepared an anti tank rifle to aim straight to Gerard for two simple reasons.

Yes. An anti tank rifle. You read that right the first time.

Mercy was doing this because:

One. He had fucked up big time. Again. And this time, there was no Fareeha to save his ass once again.

Two. There was no Fareeha. She was actually losing hope now. Surely she would've called by now if she were okay-

Oh no.

She did not just see that happen.

That filthy, slimy, arrogant FROG EATING PIECE OF SHI- **PARKING IN THE SPACE OF _HER_** **FAREEHA?!**

 _Loudly,_ might she add.

"Oh, that's it!" Mercy started charging the rifle. " _You've got another thing coming to mess with Angela Zie_ -"

"Hey sweetie."

The headpiece she had on her ear filled up with a very familiar voice. Enough that the so called Angel of Death was stopped on her tracks.

"Sorry I'm late. Traffic."

The underworld boss (who is technically Ana, but don't tell Mercy _that_ ) stayed frozen for a few seconds.

"But I'm here now, so... hello?"

No response.

"...Hello?"

 **Author's Notes**

 **The original note got lost in the mail. Bummer. I hope to find it soon.**

 **2018 EDIT: Google Cache is now off limits? Dammit, I had liked the original enthusiastic note. Anyhows, t** **his story is based on SuperRisu's awesome (still are!) Mafia AU Sketches, which all started with this Tumblr post: tinyurl+com+** **/y7p4hrgb** **.**

 **I highly recommend you check out LogosMinusPity's Pocket Full of Shells (PFOS -** **tinyurl+com+** **/ybqkx8cu),** **Orenjikitty's Swing of Things/VOTSOD (** **tinyurl+com+** **/y9xj8ryb) and Smoke on the Water by Lost Giraffe (tinyurl+com+** **/y8g5angt) if you liked this story.**

 **Here's hoping I'll get inspired soon to continue this. See ya, whoever you are.**


	2. Docks - Ending 1

**Chapter 2**

The young Amari boss and the Angel of Death herself have been discussing business in the main office for over a hour. As the trusted secretary of the AMARI A.I. company, what was discussed within that premise was none of the French lady's business. That was not why she was paid for.

Filing her nails to perfection, she had to admit she got a little worried, like the rest of the Amari loyal soldiers in the building.

Fareeha was serious about her job, like her well respected mother, but compared to the stoic, serious mafiosa they had in Ana, she was too high spirited. And wild. She hoped that nothing bad was going on in that office. The ex-sniper looked around, drumming well manicured, sharp nails impatiently on her desk.

That cheerful, stubby little rose hasn't come pay a visit to her in awhile. She missed her a bit.

Unlike her ex husband. She heard Mercy took care of him for good last time he was around. Tres bien. One less mouth to feed in the world.

Now, to order from Le Parisian. She really wanted that Chicken Supreme after ordering for-

Amelie heard loud noises from the room. Noises that did not promise good things for the mafia world.

Everyone, including herself, listened intently to the door, fearing the worst.

It clicked open, Mercy exiting first.

* * *

 **Earlier...**

"You may go in." Mercy grabbed her purse and entered the office.

It was completely renovated. The former boss' distinctive smell was thankfully removed completely from the air. Now, the room smelled like and fitted Fareeha's tastes perfectly. Except for that older than history grandfather clock Ana adored being the only thing that **somehow** survived the redecoration.

She would've complement Pharah for her choice in decor. If she wasn't **absolutely livid.**

That shipment her former bodyguard stole from her was a vital piece of cargo that she had been expecting for months. In another time, Fareeha herself would've made sure that piece of cargo came home in one piece with no damage or leakages coming from either the shipment or possible thieves. She used her **own** methods **against** her!

Mercy was totally going to-

Wait. Shouldn't there have been someone else before her?

"Hello beautiful. Sorry for the delay. Candyland had a bonus level, I just had to finish this before talking to you."

 _Unbelievable._

"Fareeha!"

Giving a quick glance towards her watch, the new leader switched the cellphone off. "Sorry babe, all done. _I missed you~_ "

With a casual smile, Fareeha was quick to reach out, wanting to remove the priceless coat hanging on Angela's shoulders and run nimble fingers against ivory skin, having personally missed Angela's company since the initiation. Seeing Fareeha coming from behind, Angela briskly kept walking forward without slouching, not wanting to get distracted by her lover's soft touches before or during their important discussion.

Usually Angela always let Fareeha remove her coat wherever they went, entrusting the removal only by her.

This made the Egyptian's face fall slightly. "Right, right. Business. Gotta close this first."

The door was shut right after.

* * *

Angela reached out for her purse. That's how it is then. She couldn't have been clearer.

Her Fareehali was going to continue steal from her. Directly. That was certain.

After learning from her. After sharing her bed.

After stealing her heart.

Nothing betrayed her emotions. But she felt erratic. Defeated.

Everything she had fought hard for came tumbling down in an instant.

"You leave me no choice."

 **-click-**

The sound of leather shifting was just as fast.

The second most feared ring leader pulled her trusted silver 45. Wildey Magnum towards the young kingpin. "This means war-!"

The audible crack in her voice betrayed her emotions. She wished how things would've been if she had never seen Fareeha's face-

What she said next made Angela stop completely.

* * *

Outside the office, the hungry soldiers circled Amelie's desk like vultures.

"Ah, support has arrived," as she greeted the delivery girl, rechecking the money. 25% discount, as usual.

Good.

"That will be 30 bucks, my dear!"

* * *

"Marry me."

* * *

It was the romantic mobster movie Quentin Tarantino never made.

One gangster was holding a gun. The other, a black, velvet box. Truly, the Mexican standoff of the century.

"I never cared about that cargo. I just wanted to prove I can outsmart you. And I proved it."

The white draped vixen was still pointing her gun towards her lover.

"This. **This** is why you are here, Angela."

Sapphire clashed harshly with scarlet.

"I will give you a choice. You can either declare war on us Amari and, effectively, me..."

The gun trembled a little in her hand.

"Or... we could fuse our empires. Just to, quoting you, **hate** each other for the rest of our lives."

But her face did not betray that hesitation.

The black suited gangster approached her, disarming the weapon without resistance. "And we would be unstoppable." Fareeha kissed the front of Angela's hand as delicately as possible, tracing parts of bare skin where an engagement ring should be placed.

"Together."

* * *

All Angela could do was stare.

For a moment.

"Are you... are you threatening me? **Me?** The Angel of Death?" Mercy looked disbelievingly at the newly appointed Amari leader.

"Yes," she replied calmly, gently letting her hand go. Fareeha was never a blabber. "You will either marry me, or it's war. You and me. Lots of blood. Simple."

The ruthless gangster in all of the city never hesitated in anything. "And because of... _this_ , you will keep stealing from me?"

Fareeha nodded. "You will **never** get rid of me. I will keep bringing you here, in _my_ office, until _you_ tell **me** what ** _I_** want to hear."

She stayed silent, enjoying the way Mercy's face made many different emotions at once.

Only she made her do that.

"This? _This_ is why I lost seven of my men?" her ice cold stare returning, much to Fareeha's disappointment. "Just to get my attention?"

The Egyptian's smile curled upwards in an impossible manner. "Yes."

"Then... why didn't you do something simpler? Phone me, tell me to come here without... the **fuss**. Do you have _any_ idea how the media is all over this?"

" _Yes_. They are quite distracted, aren't they?"

Fareeha looked upwards, like she was considering what Angela suggested to her earlier. Phoning her would've been too easy.

She would not have seen how she would've reacted to a situation like this. And she did not disappoint.

Angela started laughing. "Don't get me wrong. This changes... _everything._ But why go through all of this?"

This time, there was no doubt.

Angela's voice wavered in a way that **almost** made Pharah drop everything she planned and submit to her completely.

"I could've killed you, Fareehali. Right here, in this room. And I would **never** have forgiven myself for that."

The grandfather clock in the background was the only noise audible from the room for a few minutes.

"Answer me now."

She looked up to the Amari boss with such sincerity that Pharah couldn't help but return it in earnest.

"Because... a woman who can be bought, isn't worth having."

Silence.

Fareeha immediately silenced Angela's mouth slowly forming an o shape with a quick smooch.

"Not yet, honey. It ruins the **suspense** ~"

Angela raised her arms in frustration, walking around the office.

"Why can't I tell you my answer now?!"

Fareeha was tempted to know it right then. But she was enjoying this game too much.

It wasn't common to see the Angel of Mercy ask for more answers after all. If at all.

"No. I want you to think about it. Weigh every option, every possibility. I want your answer to be definitive."

Angela was still not believing what she was hearing. She grabbed Fareeha's collar, to bring her close like she used to when her former bodyguard was still learning the ropes from her. Except there was no power play, no soft endearments only Pharah got to hear, no rough words that would lead them craving each other's company in the night, many times even before. She looked like she wanted to really, _really_ kiss Pharah, but was conflicted about the whole situation in front of her.

It was adorable, in a deplorable sense.

In response, one of Fareeha's warm, calloused hands found a way behind Angela's back, brushing through few strands of blonde hair coming between her and proud shoulders. "Dawww..." Pharah leaned towards her former boss, making sure she picked up her scent completely. "Someone's shy all of a sudden..."

She brought Mercy's chin forward, reaching her lips for a surprisingly tender kiss. Mercy was almost going to allow herself to tell Pharah her answer.

The darker, taller crime boss looked at the clock behind them. It was chiming high noon.

"If I don't meet you by the docks in the next twelve hours... it _will_ be war, my love."

Almost.

Mercy was still stunned by their kiss to register Pharah's words properly. Until they did.

"And trust me. I **WILL** destroy you." Pharah then inclined towards Angela's ear, whispering little truths about their relationship only the two knew about.

These whispers included hushed words such as _'fucked'_ , _'hair'_ , _'pulled' and **'stud muffin'**_.

This left Mercy even more frustrated. Somehow.

"It's your choice. So don't mess with me angel."

Angela could feel Pharah's wolfish grin on her smug face. She didn't need to see it to know it was there.

Mercy left the amused mobster on the spot, placing her .45 Wildey Magnum back into her fancy purse in a hurry, whilst swiftly picking up her coat.

Pharah enjoyed walking behind the ivory wearing gangster just to annoy her. Mostly because she knew Angela was more conflicted about leaving the room than about her answer by the docks. She opened the door before Pharah could do it for her.

The glare she gave her not so secret lover could've killed thousands, but it only made Pharah want to pull her back into the room for a more... _private_ meeting.

* * *

 **Present time...**

Angela turned to look behind her, the Mongolian white fur on her shoulders making her look like an angry snow leopard with bristled fur than an actual threat to the now seasoned mafia boss. Opening the office door, she looked at the Egyptian leader, making sure that she was loud and clear to everyone around them.

The people around them all froze like statues, listening to their every word.

But neither one of them paid attention to anyone but themselves.

"I will remove that smug, prick grin off that pretty face of yours."

"Go on."

"I will make you **regret** the day you decided to mess with me."

"Hardly, sugar."

The pause between them was heavy in the air.

Everyone in the room stopped to listen to what they say.

Before leaving completely, Angela had one last thing to tell to the leering gangster.

"I will **kill** you tonight."

 **-slap-**

Everyone gasped towards the two most powerful crime bosses in the entire city.

One of them had just slapped the other straight on the butt as hard as she could.

The shit eating grin on the olive skinned mobster made the people within the room wonder if they should run for their lives or just keep watching.

"Make sure to keep that promise, my _dear_ est angel," the jackal pointed a gun finger straight to Dr Ziegler's heart. "We've got an important date tonight."

She made a gunfire motion towards the notorious Angel of Mercy herself. Uncaring about the glare emitting from a furious baby seal who happened to be her boss, Fareeha unabashedly scanned her beloved from top to bottom, then back up again, enjoying the white palette she was wearing.

Angela's stance rose to legendary stiffness to match Fareeha's height. Folding her arms, she waited.

A smokey, half-lidded stare said it all. "You'll look _lovely_ if you'd come dressed the way you are."

Angela slammed the door shut on Fareeha's face in response.

* * *

Anyone else.

Anyone else doing **that** would've ended up buried alive in a desolate junkyard before the sun was down. Fareeha's cheek angered Angela, but not because she slapped her butt. It's because she did it in public. Certain... matters between them should _stay_ between them.

But she'll have to indulge the younger crime boss for now. She'll show her who she was messing with when they'll be by the docks tonight.

She strutted out of the Amari entrance, the rumours of war and marriage spreading within the people in the office like wildfire the second she left the building.

Let them talk. That is all _they_ can do.

Entering her beloved sliver DB11, her mind was set what to do next. She looked at her empty ring finger, tracing the area to recall Fareeha's touch.

A pity she beat her to it. She was looking forward to do it herself.

It didn't really matter though. After all, whatever Angela wants, she gets.

"Lucio," the communicator switching on instantly with her voice command. "Prepare these arrangements."

"Affirmative boss."

And she wanted everything to be perfect tonight.

* * *

Angela's incredulous reaction only made the smitten Amari leader in an even better mood than before, laughing as hard as she could. Pharah leaned back on the- _their_ couch completely satisfied, looking at the sapphire ring she had brought straight from South Africa's mines for her, confident about the Angel of Mercy's answer.

 _I will **kill** you tonight._

Fareeha's eyes rolled towards the ceiling, moving the bottom part of her index finger into her mouth, biting and breathing in into the knuckle's skin in a 'managa' manner.

" **God** , I hope so."

* * *

 **07:55pm**

The Amari docks were quiet tonight. A sleek, tall figure left the expensive (and all clean) Lamborghini parked behind her. Fareeha looked at her watch, a sleek, onyx black jacket hanging over her shoulders. She made her final preparations, resting on the well-lit pole.

Yacht? Check, looking at her and her bae's transportation satisfyingly. It was fuel enough to last for months. Well stocked with food also.

Speech? Check, all memorised. It was all from the heart, no need to write anything down.

Ring? Check, patting on the box. Perhaps she didn't need to procure an actual sapphire. But this was Angela she was talking about. She probably would say what she wanted to hear without expenses. But that doesn't mean that Fareeha cannot spoil her rotten. She deserved only the best.

The sea waves splashed around her a little, quickly bringing Fareeha back from her moon expedition.

Beautiful, crazy, wonderful woman of steel whom she loved with all her heart?

Stroking the pocketed box in her trousers lovingly, Fareeha gazed in the distance.

Soon, _very_ soon.

She looked at her watch again. Five minutes early in her appointment. Perfect.

All she had to do was wait.

* * *

 **11:50pm**

An hour passes. Two of them fly away as quickly.

Fareeha stares nervously at the time, smoking her third cigarette. There were only ten minutes left from midnight. True, she did tell Angela she had till midnight. But if she didn't have her answer tonight, she can always delay till the next day. And the day after. The most, two weeks.

If not...

Fareeha sighed. They'd **have** to go to war. The mafia world was a cruel one. Fareeha cannot afford not to keep her word.

Because of the family business.

Respect.

Traditions.

And Fareeha was a woman of her word. A self-made woman. She had surpassed her fenominal mother in every way possible.

But if she could just throw everything away if that meant having Angela in her arms, then family be damned-

A familiar engine sounded in the distance.

She didn't need to look up. The DB11 she had the pleasure of riding (many times) parked straight next to her Avantator. Fareeha looked towards the sea, clearing her thoughts. Inhaling the calming sea breeze she posed coolly near the post again, having being pacing nervously before.

She cannot afford Angela to see her do that.

Not tonight.

She placed her hand on the black box for comfort, deeply inhaling from her cigarette to calm her nerves. She needed that.

Allah preserve her. She'd recognise the sound of those heels, scratching the surface of the boardwalk even if she went blind, deaf and vegetate.

Her heart rate matched with the hurried heels. The sound stopped.

Pharah looked upwards. Both mobsters scanned each other (read: checked out) for a few minutes. Fareeha took one last drag from her cigarette. Stepping over the used filter, she waited until the aristocratic mafiosa resumed tormenting her, stopping at the edge of the light.

"Sorry I'm late. Traffic."

The suit wearing mobster smiled at her angel using her own words against her. "I deserve that one."

For a few quiet moments, the sea breeze and the creaking boats were the only noises that could be heard in the background.

Angela brought her long, luxurious hair out of her coat as slowly as possible.

Fareeha observed her every move.

She stepped into the light.

* * *

 **Meanwhile...**

Little did they know, the two mobsters had an audience that night.

"It's a good thing our lead gave us these co-ordinates." Winston told his chirpy partner as they going to interpret what the crime bosses were about to say through the former aviator's talented lip reading skills.

"Mm-mm. Still, it sucks he only talks to Hana. We have no idea who is actually is or who's side of them he's on."

"That doesn't matter now. What matters is that we are here, we are going to record everything- and I mean everything Lena, not like last time- and tonight we will know if we are going home alive or not after this meeting."

"What do you mean?" Lena pointed at her binoculars. "We may be out in the open, but they cannot see us. We're safe in our spy's location. Nice boat, too."

"If you can see them, they can see you, Lena. You should know that better than me."

"Right, right," she prepared her equipment. "Damn, I feel like Seth Green from the Italian Job. You think Chief Jack will love improvised speeches?"

"No, Lena. We talked about this before. Focus on **everything** they have to say first, _then_ add the jokes. And **DO NOT** send them to the Chief. You know how he is."

"Mm. And he's probably a Seth Rogan fan. I would not be surprised."

"We both know that's untrue. Everyone knows Chief is a big fan of Gordon Ramsey."

That brought a chuckle out of Lena. "Well, he's a fan of _something_ , so he was born human, at least."

Both of them laughed wholeheartedly, as they waited for the crucial meeting to happen. The Chief being nowhere to be seen helped a lot. Whilst drinking from the precious ration they possessed, the now familiar Avantador parked in the distance.

"Jackal's here."

 **Some time passes...**

Winston looked at the docks one more time. "Hey, Jackal's acting nervous. Taking advantage. Round up!"

Lena looked at her trusted friend immediately. "Tablet?"

"Check, fully charged."

"Fuel?"

"Mountain Dews and fresh taco bells, all provided by Agent Song. Check!"

"Justice?"

They fist pumped each other. "Atta boy! We're both ready now! When I tell you, start writing."

Winston smiled at the young girl. She had a bright future ahead. But she was too young to remember the deaths involving criminals and innocents alike during the bloodiest mafia wars that ever happened. He hoped he was wrong, and that the second war was not brewing in the distance.

An Aston Martin finally arrived near the docks.

"Angel has flown in."

Winston gulped, making the cross sign. He brought his note app out.

"Jackal is still in position."

They could clearly see the two mafia bosses stand still at opposite end. Lena lifted her binoculars.

"Angel stopped walking. Commence Operation: Birdwatch."

Winston took a bite out of his tasty taco as fast as possible.

"Fire away, Oxton. It's showtime."

 **Meanwhile...**

Someone else was interested in what was going on between the two mafiosi bosses.

Someone who's ally was everyone and nobody but herself.

The mysterious person was on her super computer, bopping her precious teddy bear as it registered every word the two officers were saying unknowingly.

Boy, was a certain A.N.N. head director gonna be happy about this new information she was going to bring her. Even if she keeps it to herself.

She wondered what... special reward she was getting this time. Access to Julian Assange's Panama account?

Mmm, that's a good request.

Sombra tapped on her fingers expectantly, waiting for the two unaware officers to dictate what was going on.

She waited three whole hours for this. War or no war, it better be worth her time.

 _I'm in. Mwha._

 **Meanwhile...**

A veteran killer cleaned her lens from the Amari HQ's highest lookout point.

She wanted her daughter to be happy. That much is certain. But if that arrogant, proud, porca puttana **dared** to think about hurting _one_ finger out of her precious ibnah in _her_ backyard, she's got another thing coming.

If she didn't...

Ana will welcome Angela in the family with open arms. For Fareeha's sake.

The bonding or breaking part will have to take place later. For now, she was just a mother looking out for her daughter.

Mercy may have saved Fareeha's life, but that did not mean she owned it to do whatever she pleased.

Not once did the scope's cross hair leave a certain fair headed person's skull until the very end of their meeting.

* * *

The grandfather clock chimed midnight in the now empty Amari office.

* * *

Mercy did not bring any sort of smoke with her. _She's dead serious about this, just like me._ When it comes to smoking, she was her opposite.

It was the Angel of Death who first broke the ice.

"Nice suit."

Onyx black pinstripe, complete with a matching hat. Golden wrist watch, wonderful waist coat. Just the way Angela liked it.

Those rolled up sleeves showing off bulging biceps (which contracted slightly every time Angela laid eyes on them) were a good match too...

"Nice dress."

The figure in question was wearing completely white, with jewellery being made out of precious ivory. This gave Fareeha much needed hope.

She removed her hat. "A pity if anything happened to it."

Fareeha was going to pretend she meant her war threats earlier. She wanted to feel her beloved's fangs gnarl all over her.

This was going to be fun.

Little did she know, Mercy had the exact same idea.

* * *

The two started snarling definite war threats against each other.

How they would destroy each other's shipments because they could.

How they would chase one another until the other did whatever the victor wanted.

How they would take their respective soldiers and make them swear loyalty to each other.

It was basically tennis with cannonballs.

Lena dictated all what they said, Winston wrote down on his tablet.

Sombra recorded everything, sending a video message to Symmetra through Skype.

Ana spied the two unwitting crime bosses through her bird's nest, in case Angela tried anything harmful against her precious heir.

Emily heated up her lasagna leftovers, staying awake in case her beloved corgi felt lonely that night, despite having a rough day in the A.N.N. offices.

Gerard was still sleeping with the fishes.

Everyone was busy doing something that night.

* * *

"Be honest with me, Faree. Have you enjoyed my company to spite your mother?"

Lena imitated Mercy's stoic body language, saying that line as sweetly as possible, blinking her eyes rapidly.

Winston raised an eyebrow to that.

"If I did, would I be here in the first place?"

The Brit wiggled her eyebrows suggestively, deepening her voice and ran a hand through her hair, imitating Fareeha to perfection.

Perhaps it was very late at night. But he had to comment.

"Okay, that is an odd way to declare war on your enemy..."

They kept talking about little things. What happened to Gerard.

"Who's Gerard?"

Lena shook her head, as if reminded of a grim story.

"He's a sad one, Winston. You're better off not knowing."

The war that almost broke out between them, the Russians and Chinese mo-

"Write that down, that's important! We didn't know that before!"

Then, things got...

 **Weird**.

* * *

Angela walked directly into Pharah's personal space.

Winston gulped. _This is it. It's either peace or war._

The demonic angel placed her fingertips on the edge of Pharah's distinctive eye tattoo. Slow blinking towards Mercy, keeping a confidently unbent posture, the arms dealer looked downwards, two gloved hands smoothly found their place into the suit's trousers in total tranquillity. Making Lena realise Fareeha was wearing her crispin best flame themed high-shine leather brogues to (hopefully) leave a lasting impression to the woman who has (almost) everything in front of her. **What are _those-?!_**

Whoops. The conversation resumed. "I hate you, Fareeha."

Winston kept taking his notes, his blood turned ice cold, fearing the worst.

"I hate you with all my heart. I hate you so much I can barely take it."

The sentient gorilla lowered the tablet, dread filing his entire being. "Oh no. They _are_ going to war then. God save us all."

Winston was partially right. That is why the two mobsters had to settle for a deal between them before things escalated.

In fact, soon **everything** became clearer for the law defenders.

Lena continued lip reading Angela's speech, as she did not finished yet.

"You are my greatest strength and my greatest weakness."

Winston started to wonder if Lena was lip reading the two correctly. What does this... sweet talk have to do with an impending mafia war?

He also knitted his eyebrows together in confusion when Angela started playing with Fareeha's tie hook, touching the mobster's golden braids gently now and then.

 **And Pharah just let her do that.**

"I want to go on hating you for the rest of my life. But if we go to war, then..."

Lena lowered her binoculars. "I won't be able to hate you anymore? How does that make-"

In that precise moment, Angela placed her arms around the taller mobster and leaned up to kiss her, one leg daintily lifted in the air. The darker, intimidating arms dealer boss welcomed her kiss with open arms, inclining towards her former boss immediately.

Both officers were left stunned at the sight.

After a few seconds, Lena immediately lifted the binoculars back up in the name of justice.

"Angie, _darling_. If it makes you feel better, I hate you too. I've _hated_ you since the day we first met."

Winston kept tapping important notes on his screen, this time not believing what he was writing down.

"Not as much as I hate _you_ , bärchen~"

Lena lowered her binoculars momentarily. "Barchen? That's a little close... well, close. Super close."

Winston looked traumatised. "Super, **super** close." Back up, they go.

The two leaders stopped talking for a while, both gangsters being too busy ( _"Häsli~" "Peach cake~"_ ) negotiating 'peace terms' between them to actually speak. The way they explored each other's hair and necks made the officers feel uncomfortable. They **still** could not process what was happening in front of them.

"This makes no sense whatsoever. One moment they're threatening each other with war, then they proceed to... make out? Have we missed something?"

"Bitte... _ich bi total i di vernarrt~_ "

"Mm _yes_ , talk Swiss to me babe you know I love it~"

Winston couldn't believe his ears. **"Lena!"**

An aggitated squirrel lowered her binoculars indignantly. "What?! _They_ said that!"

"We don't need to write _that_ in our report!"

"But you told me to tell you ev- shit! They were talking again!"

This time, it was Fareeha who was making a little speech of hers, whilst gingerly placing her hat on Mercy's head. Apparently they missed the first part. _Dammit!_

"...why don't we climb onto our yacht, go around the world together, and make _sweet love_ -"

"Aren't you forgetting something."

Winston looked at Lena. She shrugged.

"She said it like that, not me," as she resumed doing her duty.

* * *

"Hmm? Me? Forget something for _you?_ What have I missed, my angel?"

Angela offered Fareeha her right hand in the air, holding the hat down against a chilly breeze with the other. Pharah feigned surprise with a tiny, scandalised gasp.

"How dare I forget that... I should be punished."

"Don't give me ideas, Faree."

"Ideas? Like when you tied me up by a chair that one time? In your office?"

"Mm. That's a **very** appealing idea to repeat right now."

" **And** left me alone for an entire hour. _An hour_."

"Didn't I have an interview with a reporter that time?"

"You _still_ left me tied up there."

"Is that a grudge I hear, darling?"

"Not really. You did knock me out that night. And those ropes were **really** **hard** to loosen up."

Fareeha's lighthearted tone diminished when Angela cut the distance between them, a sly smile only inches away from a startled Egyptian's line of vision. "You know that's not the only thread of mine you've loosened, my dear." A wicked grin that had surfaced returned, matching her eyes.

Sighing out happily, Fareeha leaned foward, planting a little smooch on the right side of her face.

"I could say the same thing, my angelic princess."

Pharah's expression did not stay playful for long.

Neither did Angela's.

 **-click-**

The soft waves of the drowsy sea waves by the pillars did nothing to cover a clear click of a cold gun barrel, pressing firmly against Fareeha's stomach.

"On your knees Fareehali. Or I'll shoot you down to make you do so."

Pause.

The laughter emitting from the third most powerful crime leader in the city was audible even from Lena and Winston's hiding spot.

"No need to. I'll only do this for you."

Playfully teasing her boss further by planting a small kiss on an unsuspecting earlobe, nipping the top part gently as a promise, Pharah went down on her knees, a sly smile evident on the Egyptian's face clearly visible in the brightly lit street light.

* * *

"Be careful, Lena! We need to get as much information as possible out of this! She'll probably talk about where they're going next!"

"Got it!"

Pharah brought a small, black box out of her jacket. Lena could tell that she was completely weaponless under her belt and jacket.

 _She trusts Mercy that much? So much for war prospects._

"I suppose this was inevitable. Perhaps I was yours the moment you commanded me to strip in front of you, the day I became your bodyguard."

Lena had to shrug towards Winston before continuing.

"Take my hand, Pharah."

Pharah held Mercy's hand as strongly as possible, but didn't hurt her. Angela returned the grip just as strongly, lowering her gun.

"I am not terrified about our future. Because I adore you. And I know everything about you. And you, me."

Winston and Lena's hearts could practically power up the planet for their anticipation towards what happened next.

Winston was afraid that possible rejection would lead to a bigger war than the Shimada Massacre.

Lena's little gay heart _really wanted_ Mercy to say yes. (And was secretly taking personal notes.)

"If you say yes, I will take you wherever your heart desires. I will **give** you whatever you want. This place, the world? All yours. Just tell me the words and I will bring  anything **you** want to its knees." At that moment, she coolly opened the ring box in front of the Angel of Mercy, who was looking at Pharah as if she was made out of solid gold. "Tell me you will be _mine_ for as long as we breathe. And I **will** make you happy, I swear it. I want us to hate each other _for the rest of our lives._ "

The Egyptian stopped a bit, as she placed their held hands onto her shoulder. Angela herself was unreadable at that moment.

"You're the syringe I need straight into my heart."

After an eternity, Fareeha looked up towards Angela. There was no other way to describe it. Cold blooded killer or not, she looked like a woman in love.

"Will you make me the happiest mobster in the world, my engel?"

"Yes."

"That was quick."

"Yes?"

 **"Yes!"**

* * *

And like that, the underworld **exploded.**

* * *

With one stare, both mobsters took in each other's features. Wanting to treasure the memory forever.

At that moment, Pharah jumped to hug the fair headed bombshell. Raising her angel high towards the skies, spinning the ice cold mobster around the docks, uncaring how high her voice could go. A crack of a smile was showing on Mercy's face. It had to be seen to be believed.

Because the two officers of the law at opposite end **still** couldn't register what they were witnessing.

Gently caressing each other's faces, the two resumed their _peace negotiations_ , the meeting's result was just starting to sink in. If you look closer, you could swear little amber black and cyan white hearts floating above the happy couple, a pinstriped leg now rising in response to her boss' eagerness to seal the deal.

"So much for war brewing. Did you see that coming, Agent Oxton?"

Lena nodded towards the sentient gorilla. "No, but... I'm almost happy for the two."

You could hear Winston's facepalm all the way from China.

A certain ice loving mobster felt her ears ring very harshly.

It was a very good thing the two mobsters were distracted with each other right then.

"No! Lena, please! No fraternising with the enemy! Those two are cold blooded killers! They need to be brought to justice!"

"But... they're kinda _cute_ , Winston. I heard it was a long time coming."

"... You're impossible, my friend. What would _Emily_ say about this?"

He hoped it would bring some sense into the aspiring detective.

Anything but. Lena's eyes shined with admiration and love for her beloved reporter.

"Bless my girl. She _knew_. She called this happening long ago! All she needed was evidence! This is gonna be her biggest scoop! I've **got** to tell her about this!"

Winston practically gave up on God at this point.

"Duty first! We cannot share our information with the news before the Chief! You know that, stop-!"

"You can't stop me, Winston! She **must** know-!"

* * *

Whilst Winston tried to stop Lena from calling the love of her life, the two criminals they -should be- observing were very busy happily imprisoning each other for rest of their days.

The ring fitted Mercy's finger perfectly. She looked as its beauty gleamed against the sea's colours.

Angela didn't stop the strong, loving arms surround her, as she inhaled the scent coming from her lover's suit deeply as possible, enjoying the powerful embrace. Mercy looked at the face that bewitched her with a rare smile. A smile reserved only for Pharah. Fareeha calmly removed the striped fedora from her love's head, wearing it again. Dipping her head down, Fareeha returned the smile earnestly. At that reaction, Mercy tugged on her collar, pulling her lover gently towards her face, one hand teasingly slipping behind Fareeha's neck.

"Until death do us part."

Their kiss was slow and tender. Both of their hands were united as if their life depended on it.

They stayed there, foreheads touching each other, as they enjoyed the cool breeze of the sea waves.

Mercy was never one for romance. But, for Pharah's sake...

"Faree... let's get married."

"We are, sweet cheeks." Angela shook her head, caressing her scarab's jawline out of open affection.

"No... that requires planning. Invitations. _Waiting_. I don't want that."

Pharah started placing butterfly kisses all over on her face. "What do you wish then?"

Mercy enjoyed her darling's attention a little bit. Pharah leaned into her ear, her voice reaching a low pitch that promised more than the light kisses they had shared till now. "Tell me what you want, Angela. And I'll make it happen."

That was all she needed to hear.

"Take me to Switzerland. I know a priest there. Goes by the name of Reinhardt. He owes me big. He'll marry us in the place where I always dreamed of."

"Where?"

"St. Peter's Cathedral."

"What if he refuses to marry us?" They looked at each other.

"Who said he has a choice?" "Who said he has a choice?"

Mercy looked at her engagement ring again. Pharah traced it gently, with a hazy gaze towards the only woman she'll ever submit to. "Switzerland, Geneva then? We've got our first destination, Angela." The low tone in her voice was sultry, but Mercy was a woman with a mission.

"And I want to go to Egypt, Cairo."

That made Pharah go silent, feeling a little dazed. "Mercy, we don't need-"

"Yes, we do. I want us to be married in both customs. If you're going to be with **me** , you're going to do so with dignity and honour." Fareeha stayed silent, lips thinning after looking downwards. "Don't you **dare** deny it, Fareeha. This is what you want too."

More silence.

"This is about Ana, isn't it?" She nodded. Mercy sighed. "Then we will invite her for our wedding in Egypt. And _only_ her. But first, we go to Switzerland. Only **us**. Like this, if she doesn't approve our union, it will be too late for any protest. Not that I would allow it."

Fareeha smiled in a way a wolf's snarl would look tame. "It's a deal, then."

* * *

Ana sneezed. That came out of nowhere.

* * *

Pharah lifted Mercy up and carried her bridal style with ease, surprising Angela a little. Just a little. "And after Cairo? Where else shall we go?" The Egyptian asked, as etched, buff shoulders carried her to the spacious yacht they will drive together for the next few months.

"Wherever _you_ want. I made my arrangements. We have at least three months all to ourselves," Fareeha whistled at her future wife's efficiently. "How about you, bärchen? Are you only free for tonight?"

"You know very well I'm not. But if anything crops up whilst we're travelling, there's always Ana."

"We'd _have_ to invite her to Cairo then."

"As you wish, Dr. Amari."

Fareeha somehow managed to evade Angela's playful swatting. "We haven't decided on that yet!"

"We'll decide tonight."

Angela liked the sound of it, but she won't give Pharah that satisfaction too soon.

Feeling a warm, secure hand caress the side of her waist lightly, Angela started nibbling the lower part of Fareeha's collarbone, exploring further after placing her own around an inked nape, blowing soft air on wherever her lips touched.

When Fareeha wordlessly tilted her head, asking for more affection, it made Angela's cold exterior melt instantly. Making eye contact, Angela smiled as Fareeha's grip did not lose its strength, but the gaze she stared back with said it all.

"Tonight. Fareeha _Ziegler_..."

* * *

After Fareeha helped Angela get back on her feet, she started removing the yacht's ropes.

"Faree, is there a specific place you wish to go?"

"Honestly? I always wanted to visit Spain..."

"You have to take me there, then."

A quick peck was shared between the two. "You can go settle down in the cabin, honey. I'll drive."

 **\- twack -**

Pharah looked back at Mercy, with a straightened posture that could've bent sturdy railways.

"Whoops. My hand slipped."

She stared at the blonde offender incredulously. Mercy placed a finger on her lips, as she slowly walked about towards the cabin's entrance.

You know what they say. Taunt the dragon, you get burned.

Fareeha rolled up her sleeves again, as Angela beckoned her lover towards her, never taking her eyes off of Pharah whilst removing tight, high heeled shoes.

" _Now_ you've done it."

* * *

As the two most powerful people in the world unashamedly chased each other on the yacht playing duck duck goose, their audience started reacting.

Sombra was still laughing her head off, ignoring Satya's questions for the time being. She couldn't have asked for better entertainment herself!

Ana started clearing her equipment. She'll have to let Mercy win this battle. But that doesn't mean she will be an easy mother-in-law to her.

Lena and Winston still fought against each other (if you could call it that) over the one mobile phone they possessed.

You cannot come between a woman and her love. The poor gorilla learnt that the hard way.

No one from the unwanted spies saw Angela drag Fareeha inside the room _enthusiastically_ by her tie until the door was slammed shut.

* * *

 **Much, much later...**

The younger crime boss parted away, much to Mercy's protests.

"I'll miss you."

Pharah _almost_ didn't go. But someone had to take care of the ship.

"Oh honey, could you lend me your gun? I gotta go outside a bit."

"No cigar, meine liebe. It's staying where it is."

Fareeha's gaze glowed at the silent admission. "It's empty isn't it?"Seeing a seductive look being thrown alongside casually flipped hair that would make María Félix sue for perfect imitation, Fareeha _almost_ forgot she needed to start the yacht's engine. She stopped before reopening the entrance.

"Don't forget what you promised. You **did** say you were going to kill me tonight. I'll be _so_ disappointed if you didn't. I'm going to need some fuel later after starting our trip together. Otherwise we're stuck here. No love, no engine starting. I won't take long."

Pharah blew a kiss in the air, immediately going for the command room.

When the cabin door opened again, Fareeha's state was obvious. She looked completely dis-levelled, fresh lipstick marks clearly seen all over her face, collar and arms. The woman behind her said her next words as slowly as possible, stopping Fareeha on her tracks.

"Like I had anything else in mind... _captain_."

Mercy bit her lip at the sight of her broad shoulders, the ones she wanted to get a hold on for the entire evening.

Pharah stared back, winking. "I like the sound of that- _hey_." Turning towards where Fareeha was waking, Angela observed her picking up the discarded fur coat and slipping it on the nearest chair, patting the ends smoothly. "Wouldn't want this to get dirty."

Going back to a happily surprised Angela, Fareeha pulled her into a long, lingering kiss once more, one hand moving a few strands of light, blonde hair behind gently to get more access to the rarely exposed right side of Angela's neck, leaving tender kisses wherever she could find. When Fareeha parted eager arms away, Angela huffed in annoyance. This made intense scarlet eyes break out in laughter, followed by a short swing landing on a round bottom.

A hushed purr dusted Fareeha's voice, a guttural groan barely contained within full lips as she closed the door behind her.

" _Wait for me, baby_." The skip in the mobster's strut was hard to miss, even from afar.

Angela leaned back into the bed they shared earlier, removing her dress. She traced the red lingerie she had worn underneath her clothes, certain the surprise she reserved for the Egyptian will be... _much appreciated_. Using her whole body to create a continuous pristine veined crease on the bed, generously outlining her body shape, she tucked smooth bare legs over the silk sheets. Angela's pose clearly indicated _what_ and _who_ she wanted to have in her arms.

Hmm. The room smelled nice.

Spying the bristled coat lying undisturbed on the chair, Angela had an idea. Lifting herself slowly from the bed, purposefully walking in low strides, Angela picked up the discarded furs and carefully spread them over the bed. A small whisker movement caught Angela's eyes, making her notice the bedpost's decorations. Eyes widening in delight, the rich whiff of dark DeLafée chocolate and heart tainted strawberries turned out to not be just part of the spacious room's fragrance. Wafting her nose and senses, Angela's appetite started to water, as she saw a corked bottle of Dom Pierre Pérignon resting on smoking ice, with two crystal flutes turned upside down, red rose petals scattered upon the entire tray, the imagery only improved with a familiar piece of cloth dangling upon them.

Taking the tie draped over the champagne bottle, placing it around her neck, Angela took one of the chocolate strawberries, picking up an impeccable blue rose from the tray. A flower card was attached under the blooming bud. It was written in Arabic, but Angela understood it perfectly.

 _'For you, my queen. I love you with all my heart.'_

An unmistakable cigar and zippo were carefully hidden under the rose, visible only after the flower was lifted from its place. A corkscrew was also there.

The feeling of warmth and security melting into Angela's lungs did nothing to deter the burning smoke trail exhaling against chemise dipped silk, the smoke wisps slowly diffusing with the scents lingering around like a cocooned blanket.

Turning the glasses, Angela started pouring champagne inside them, adding sliced strawberries on the edges, the ring on her finger reflecting her mood perfectly.

...The fur topped bed started feeling like stone. Ice cold. Angela's patience started wearing thin with every drag that got thinner, shorter.

Cutting the edge of her cigar, Angela disposed of the ashes into a nearby ashtray, placing another strawberry into her mouth.

She _will_ wait for Fareeha to return before sipping her drink.

Angela only needed the company of one person to enjoy her wine with, anyway.

* * *

The sound of the boat leaving port made Winston and Lena look up from their freeestyle wrestling match.

"SHIT! They left already! We have no idea where they're going now!"

Winston sighed in defeat. True, what they gathered from their intel will be good enough for a promotion. But when the Chief finds out they did not learn were the two mafiosi's next operation was... the two officers said together in illusion.

"He is so going to kill us." "He is so going to kill us."

* * *

"They did WHAT?!"

* * *

 **Author's Notes**

 **A.N.N. - Athena News Network**

Who said the final sentence? Jack, Emily or Symmetra? You decide!

I hope you enjoyed this as much as I did. Mercy's speech was a little tribute to LK's deleted scene between abridged!Bakura and Marik. Hey, one's Egyptian, and they're both gay. It works.

There will be one more chapter set in between, but I had to publish this beast first. Yayyy~

 **-fic now SuperRisu approved, I ded-**

Overwatch belongs to Blizzard Entertainment and Officer Hana Song. Please support the official release!

 _Ich bi total i di vernarrt -_ **I'm totally crazy about/for you** in Swiss German.

Thank you all and good night! *bows*

EDIT 2018: Added some little more narritive, improved some sentence structrures


	3. Bonus Chapter I

**Bonus Chapter 1**

 _Drip. Drip._

They were finally outside of that blasted cell. Fareeha was beyond joy to see a familiar face in the dank, underground base. It may not be the junkyard she last visited, but damn. _Drip._ All of Junkrat's bases looked exactly the same. Everywhere was full of concrete _. Drip._

Old, creaky ventilator shafts hummed in sync like a mechanical battle drum. Light generators illuminated the closest tunnels but did not allow proper scouting of the area without the risk of getting caught. _Drip._ Creaks coming from above made a few heads turn upwards, making observers note a combination of water and hot steam pour out of the ventilation shafts.

 _Drip._ Cold wind blew against damp walls surrounding the escapees, making them hyper aware of everything around them. Slow, rotating ventilation fans crept against ill kept ducts, white noise filling their eardrums with thick anticipation.

Danger was near.

 _Drip._

Especially.

 _Drip_. Those constant. _Drip._ Never stopping.

 _Drip._

 _Drip._

 _Drip._ **Goddamned** water droplets which never seemed to end falling.

One even ended up on Fareeha's nose, making her instinctively back away and immediately shake it off. She got lucky.

It was clean. And wasn't sludge.

The musty smell that followed after breathing in their first intake of air did not cover the painful groan coming out of the Russian donna, who was being supported by Fareeha and the cowboy themed bounty hunter. She had fallen to the ground after being released from the electroshock chair, barely able to stand. Fareeha was disgusted at the fact that Zarya's inflicted shock waves had been triple the amount she received. The first thing Fareeha did after freeing herself and Zarya was to frisk the Roadhog torturer in case he had some valuable information. A map or something. He had an old-fashioned walkie talkie on his possession, but nothing more. Cursing loudly in Arabic, Fareeha spent precious minutes searching all over the prison cell, lamenting about her lost phone, but not loudly enough to draw attention.

After giving up search, the Egyptian helped Jesse support Zarya towards the rusted, noisy steel door. Noticing it was too hard for Zarya to talk, Fareeha wordlessly asked Jesse what to do next. Shaking his head from side to side, Jeese re-examined the surroundings.

"While I admire the fact that you're still alive missy," Zarya gasped in pain, but did not retort, "I'll have to let you go now. We can't carry you at the same time, I'm afraid. Makes us all vulnerable."

Getting Zarya's weight off his hands, Jesse opened the Black Jack's gun barrel with a strong twist, adding three more bullets into the empty chambers. "Last three," spinning it and jamming the firing ammo back in place, Jesse fixed his retrieved poncho upwards, perhaps a reaction out of the cold. "We need to conserve our bullets."

"Easy for you to say." Fareeha's voice croaked, feeling she hasn't spoken for months. "At least you found your weapons."

"I was lucky the guy who tortured me had them on him. But I know where your firearms are. And missy's too. Not that you need to rely on them completely to kill someone, unless you've lost your touch."

Hissing out between clenched teeth, a wounded bear told Jesse to stop calling her 'missy'.

"Anyhow. 'Reeha. Missy," Zarya groaned at the ignored advice. "We need to find Junkrat's main gun cabinet. It's our best shot to stock up and retrieve our weapons. I'm sure I saw first aid kits lying about there. If not, that is our best location to find them." An eye twitched with annoyance at the sight of Fareeha's face, lowering one side of a hat that had seen better days. "Not to mention getting rid of that thing off you. How the hell did you get that? Did Junkrat feel lucky? Or is it there by mistake?"

Pharah, temporality zoned out from the bleak surroundings, let out a much needed laugh.

"Both-" Laughing was a mistake.

The muscles under the burn mark were still reeling from the sudden burning iron mashed into her skin, shocked nerves keeping Pharah from using all of her facial structure temporarily. Turning her head towards the left side of her cheek, Fareeha's neck felt slightly exposed against chilly winds, having grown tired of the rumbling pipes. Painfully low artificial light sparked through ill kept electric lighting, some of them humming irritating buzzing noises above them.

Hiding numbing, teething pain, Pharah tried changing the subject.

"The sooner we get home the better."

"Da, da," Zarya agreed wholeheartedly, "I can't vait to see, see m-my little sun again."

Memories of pain and unabashed fury resurfaced in both escapee's minds.

 **"And get our revenge."**

Pharah had managed to restrain any sign of pain with all her might. But the memory of that brand burning down, smashed fiercely against cheek and bone... like she was some sort of _cattle_.

If Junkrat had enemies before, now it was replaced with white hot fury which will **never** burn out.

"Da, nesomnenno. But first, home and rest. Maybe some broth too."

Fareeha looked upwards towards her taller, buffer associate. The reddened rope and stuffing marks were still lingering on Zarya's battered state too. "He really wanted to kill you. That bastard."

 _Drip._

Both flinching subconsciously, the two marched on, following their only lead towards freedom.

Lowering her head, Zarya started shaking, her body remembering its limits. "Da."

"We're gonna steam roll him, make him writhe in pain and **regret messing with us**." Noting that this calmed Zarya down a little, Pharah clenched grimacing teeth, feeling powerless at their situation. "Look at us. Cowering and fleeing in the dark. Like we're a bunch of mook-"

Clearing his throat a little after observing in silence, Jesse raised his hand, urging the two freed mobsters to remain silent. Crouching in the shadows, all three felt quickening heartbeats pound uncontrollably into their ears, as clear footsteps started walking towards their closed cell.

Fareeha looked upwards. No wonder it was so dark from the outside...

Jesse waited until the coast seemed clear, lowering the timber of his voice to a whisper. 'We need to reach the storage area. That is where the gun cabinet is. Follow me, and you'll both be fine.'

The Egyptian stayed quiet for a few precious seconds before nodding back. Perhaps it was the wrong time to go back. Maybe she missed the phone and was still there. Junkrat's henchmen were careless. Nothing's chang-

Holding their breath, all three released it simultaneously after heavy, echoing footsteps went back towards the opposite direction. No time turning back. Letting a little sigh of relief escape, Pharah couldn't help but miss a certain partner in crime, whom she had promised to return to her side no matter what happened.

'I know you've been at one of Junkrat's hideouts once, but this place is different 'Reeha. Let's just say he learnt from the last time he had unexpected guests.'

Fareeha had to fight herself to keep a snort climbing from her throat, whispering back. 'It doesn't look that different.'

Waiting until the patrolling shadow faded from sight, the escapees waited the signal.

"Okay. **Now.** This way."

"Jou'd b-better knov vhere jou're going, covboy."

"Don't worry, if we get lost, I'll tell you first missy."

It took most of Pharah's strength to keep Zarya from beating Jesse to an unrecognisable pulp. "Za _-Zarya hold still or Mei will mark my other cheek with a cold iron stick and **worse**_."

Facing a fuming ovtcharka in his line of sight, Jesse smiled, still wary of their surroundings.

"No wonder you're still alive. Follow me."

* * *

Reaching a hidden hatch undetected, Fareeha stayed on guard as Jesse removed sachets of grain hiding the iron lid. "This is where I came from. We'll go first left, get your weapons, then we're out of here. We'll find some painkillers if we're lucky."

Feeling Zarya stumble, Fareeha kept her stance steady. This kept the Russian woman from commenting. After removing a heavy box, the last barrier between their cell and freedom, a consistent noise of falling water started to sound audible. When Jesse lifted it, there were no more doubts. A ladder became visible.

Zarya lurched back out of instinct, dragging Pharah with her.

" **No vay.** Ve are not going through severs, **suka bljad**. Either ve lover the vater levels **or** **ve find another vay."**

Irritation showed on Jesse's scowl. "Let me ask you a question. Were you tied up?"

"Da-"

"Were you tied up and half naked?" Jesse continued, not giving Zarya a chance to respond. "Were you cuffed up from your wrists, punched into your liver, shocked with a cable attached to a car battery for days, with nothing but water and rats for company?" Pointing towards the ladder with his eyes, Jesse started climbing down. "If I can go through this, you can too. Come on. Before the alarm's set off by one of those idiots."

Going down last, Fareeha helped Zarya climb the ladder very slowly, before reaching the lower ground herself.

"Close the hatch. That will stall them." The water was probably freezing cold.

* * *

And it was.

Shaking off the memory of Junkrat's bellowing face, Pharah resumed giving Zarya support, all three walking forward in the tunnel ahead, following the leader.

"Stay close. From now on, we're in hostile territory."

Glancing towards the never-ending corridors and pipes, careful about the creaky camera's locations situated on corners and ice cold water beneath them, they marched on. Kicking a loose pipe out of the way ("No one's here during this hour.") Jesse raised a heavy gate by rotating a tough valve, giving up after it got stuck.

"Fareeha, I need your help. Can you stand on your own for a second missy?"

"I ca- can lead a **country** on my ovn."

"Good. 'Reeha, come replace me for a second. Maybe you can make this valve move faster than me."

Making sure Zarya leaned on the nearest wall securely ("Mei?" "Mei.") she turned the stuck value around until it stopped. "Nice and easy..."

To their horror, Jesse kept shaking the knob when the exit didn't budge an inch.

"Shit. It's jammed."

"Pro- probably locked."

"Marmaladed."

Two people turned their heads instantly. "Seriously Amari? **N** -"

Unmistakable splashes of footsteps smothered through the water, steadily heading towards their location. Heart pounding through every second, Jesse started pushing the door outwards, the same lock from before preventing all of them from hoisting towards safety.

"SHIT-! Not now-! This wasn't locked before-!"

"Zarya come-! There's no tim-!"

 **"GO-!"**

"What?!"

Jesse aimed his gun towards the chipped metal lock, the close range being an advantage. The pistol ejected one single bullet shell.

"Two more."

Grabbing the nearest loose pipe and using it as a shield, Zarya yelled back. "I'll reach jou! Let go of the valve and **RUN!** "

"We can't leave you! No fucking-!" Fareeha yelled when Jesse pulled her towards the exit, the iron gate slowly falling back in place, barricading between them and Zarya. "JESSE! Zarya's still-!"

"Hold still."

Many sparks started to hit Zarya's makeshift weapon and the gate, sharp projectiles breaching through the gate's defensive walls.

With nerves of steel, a stone-cold killer was convinced to not move a muscle, never passing a second glance. Using Fareeha's shoulder to steady his arm, Jesse made short work of two mooks running towards them, two clean shots landing on their temples making them stop permanently.

"I owe you that much missy! Make sure to don't die now!"

"GO-! _Vat the hell are jou_ -!"

Pistol smoke echoed dangerously close to Fareeha's blind spot. She felt herself being dragged from the edge of her tattered shirt's collar. An empty cartridge fell beside her, but did not let it be a distraction. "Let me go-! We have to stay behind!" Pharah could only see Zarya knock out visible mooks with the force of sheer grit. Out of sixth sense, Fareeha could tell Zarya was distracted by the foes in front of her.

"TO YOUR RIGHT-!"

Zarya flung the blood-stained pipe towards her right, stopping a surprise attack just in time.

"Hah! **Spasibo Shakal!** Just like in **Moscov-!"**

The falling gate shut down like a guillotine, but not before Pharah tossed the discarded cartridge sharply for a headshot, aiding her friend once more. "Don't let this shithole be your goddamned grave, or it's _my_ head Mei will roll! Rip their fucking hearts out! You hear me Zarya-! **Rip their fucking hearts out-!"**

Swinging with all her might, Zarya knocked down three charging henchmen with her makeshift shield, knocking another's teeth out with no remorse.

"This way! **QUICK!** "

Finally listening, Fareeha ran towards the door, furious when Jesse started barricading it from their side after slamming it shut.

"What the **fuck** are you doing-?"

"The intelligent thing. If Zarya makes it she can knock it down," sealing the door, Jesse rushed towards the ladder. "We can make it, but we're completely weaponless now."

Gunshots hit the only barrier they had, the hinges moving with every impact.

"This was supposed to be a shortcut. She can find another way to catch up from here. For now, stick with me," Jesse reached out a gloved hand to his old associate's direction. "For old time's sake."

Regretfully, Fareeha followed Jesse, the temperature around them feeling colder and colder.

Feeling time slow down around her, Zarya looked back, enemy blows and adrenaline the only energy pounding through her veins.

Pharah was safe. She owed nothing to that gunslinger. Zarya had sharper focus now that she saw clear.

 **"STAY ALIVE AMARI-! I'LL REACH JOU SOON-!"**

Another mook biting dust, Zarya now tossed the pipe forcefully to stop three at once, picking dropped machine guns from the dead, firing until she stopped spinning, decimating a wave of opposition in a wide arc, sulphur and gunsmoke rising in each hand.

Pulling her trigger-fingers away after looking down at the empty gun barrels, Zarya took breath. Falling to her knees, she crouched, looking around a pile of corpses, blood, and bullet casings. Smoke and dust finally settled, leaving behind an eerie echo of silence.

Only psychopaths count.

 _Drip._

She couldn't tell the difference between the cold water and her own blood anymore.

 _Drip._ More came. Of course they did. Threw a tear gas too. An act of cowards.

Zarya could barely breathe. Pain shot up from her kneecaps, having not realised her body met the ground. Feeling them swell, Zarya could only grunt in agony, rising up to move. Not expecting a rough hand pull back from the opposite direction, Zarya could only gasp as the one person she wanted to crush smiled back at her.

"Good thing I found you. _Mei would've been **so** **disappointed** in me_."

A surge of bellowing laughter echoed through the tunnels, as Zarya finally let the adrenaline rush subside, fatigue taking over the unforgiving punch landing into her ribs.

"Take her back to the cell. **I've been too soft**."

Kneeing her to the face, Zarya spit fresh blood, as she fed off the urge to scream just to give Junkrat a false sense of security. Letting his mooks drag her horizontally back towards the cell, she kept her injured head low, pretending to be the pelt of a bear not yet killed.

 _Sorry... solnyshko..._

Despite her inner strength, Zarya was still human.

 _I... cannot make it tonight..._

Fareeha and Jesse retreated back to the shadows once the alarm bells started ringing, alerting everyone of their escape.

They couldn't stall where they stand any further. 'Shit _._ Stay behind. I'll scout ahead.'

Knocking the wind out of a running henchman with three swift punched slammed into his gut, Pharah dragged the heavy unconscious man's body where she was, to not be seen by anyone else, arming herself in a wink of an eye.

Quietly moving up to the side, Fareeha waited for Jesse's signal, charging forward, hitting another unsuspecting guard in the neck.

* * *

No matter what.

* * *

The moon was bright with life that night.

Angela didn't know what made her wake. If it was the movement of sheets, lacking warmth she was used to surround her. Not picking up the sound of gentle breathing tingling softly against the shell of her ears. It could have been the new, lingering scent of tobacco, now buried in the walls. Tilting her head around, she realized her bodyguard wasn't by her side.

There she was. By the window.

She was already dressed.

Impeccably so. Too impeccable. She was wearing boots indoors. Sleek, black suspenders contrasted nicely against ivory. They were angled slightly towards the waist, following the curves of Fareeha's body in a flattering manner. White pinstripe trousers matched perfectly with a heavy well-fitting shirt, combined with a smartwatch, its golden rim shying from being visible. Only the collar was loose, three buttons removed. A sparkle coming from an unhooked cufflink matched the simmering red glow of the dying cigarette.

Angela stayed a little quiet, drowsy eyes upturned towards the Egyptian, to observe a little more.

Her chest raised and fell in close succession. Her stare lost towards the skies. A tremor found its way towards another cigarette.

If there was any fire, Fareeha made no sound.

Another quiet sigh followed the burning ember in the pitch black room, a border of fog billowing outwards from blood red lips, the moonlight highlighting a silhouetted shadow. When a burnt match was placed on top of an ashtray, she stirred.

A glint of moonlight shone upon Fareeha's back, her posture no longer ridged.

"Angela?"

Pretending to be roused by the sound of the ignited wooden match, Angela blinked, letting long fair locks slide off her shoulders. Whatever was haunting Fareeha returned, though she tried hiding anxiety through a smile. "Did I wake you up? And here I tried my best not to…"

A shadow at a distance found Fareeha, striking her down.

Yet… she smiled.

And Angela was beaten.

 _She needs comfort._

A nagging voice tapped into her head, ignoring whatever thoughts came before.

The bed felt empty without her.

"Fareeha."

Their eyes finally met, in a partial embrace.

"Come here."

A flutter of a heartbeat was met with silence.

Until Fareeha switched her cigarette off, still smoke trails imitating the snuffed filter.

Removing the suspenders first, Fareeha's hands went for her hips-

"Let me."

Scarlet meeting blue, a gaze was returned with surprise. Breathing deeply, Fareeha falls against the bed, allowing Angela to remove her clothes. A gentle breeze from the open window made Fareeha shiver, having been reduced to only a laced bra and a pair of boxers. Feeling one hand on the side of her exposed face, Fareeha immediately stiffened and looked up towards Angela, softening when she saw a hint of concern from her lover. Licking her lips, Angela gently coaxed Fareeha to approach her, wordlessly asking if she could help. Though her face betrayed no emotion, the movement of propping one arm on her elbow said otherwise.

Letting a small smile escape her nerves, Fareeha tried to lighten the mood, warm breath whispering sweetly in her lover's ear.

"You missed a spot."

Freeing her shapely breasts by unhooking the bra, Angela was a little distracted by her guard's cheekiness, sapphires widening by an inch. Noting the fresh scar that now resided at the right side of Fareeha's shoulder, concern replaced the thought of having a taste of those soft, supple lips once more. Redirecting her mind towards inquiring about Fareeha's wellbeing before her own, the bedspread was lifted slightly. "Wouldn't you know it, my favourite cushion…"

Laying her head gently on Angela's lap, warmth replaced the goosebumps that had grown earlier, two dark arms encircling the capomafia's waist. In turn, Mercy played with Fareeha's hair. Black velvet feeling as smooth as the chemise, satin nightgown made out of pure silk against her own body, a devilish smirk pulled her closer in tender gestures. A light knuckle traced a line movement downwards towards the spine, enjoying the sight of tight, strained muscles full of tension evaporate under her single touch. Seeing siegessäule inspired tattooed wings contract and move gently, Angela adjusted to see more of Fareeha's quiet reactions, feeling her heart rate relax further with each shiver.

She could remain silent.

Fareeha did seem to be lulled back into sleep, enjoying light tingles and caresses made against her visibly well toned back and neck.

 _Tomorrow would be too late…_

Angela prepared to ask the hard question by turning her glance away, the moon being her only witness, uncertainty shining on her face.

"It's Ana, isn't it."

Freezing, her guard stayed in stunned silence for a moment.

Mercy continued, despite her softer side urging to stop.

"She will be in the meeting. It is inevitable. I have to give control of the docks back to her."

The only response was Angela feeling Fareeha's grip get tighter. It lessened when a few strands of hair from her tanned, sunkissed face were gently removed through calm hand movements, soft strokes contrasting against the blank face Angela looked down with. Tracing part of the udjat tattoo descending towards Pharah's cheek, she continued. "Not bringing you with me would be… odd. It would give many snakes an excuse to rattle."

Angela couldn't afford to look weak. "And I need you by my side."

But she couldn't afford to have Pharah be in pain in any manner.

Eying the crux of Fareeha's neck, tempted to leave an amorous touch, Angela lamented internally she did still not have a tattooed mark representing their relationship. Fareeha had meant to make one at 'Santa' Torbjorn's ink parlour a week after they became lovers.

Angela was a patient woman. Mercy however, was restless, especially when it came to Pharah.

It did seem to surprise Fareeha, when she used a simple glass of wine as an excuse to make love to her again, mere days after the remembrance of the Shimada empire's downfall. Those lovely dark eyes, doing the usual routine, following her around, doing her job to the letter. How did they surprise Angela. That small, simple bouquet. A beautiful set of Gladiolus flowers, combined with Calla Lilies and precious Birds of Paradise. Fareeha's expression when giving it to her was full of hope hidden beneath hesitation. Seeing those same features return professionally behind a veil, she wanted to take in all of her face, to immortalise in her mind.

How could she not...?

When she was made her bodyguard, Angela thought she had all the time in the world to seduce Pharah. She would've, and did, take things nice and slow. Slow, to help Fareeha get used to things. Nice, because Angela knew she could be a little difficult.

Then, Ana died.

Making Fareeha her ward was the most difficult choice Angela ever made. It was already bad enough Pharah was on her payroll. She could fix that, eventually. But under _those_ circumstances, she was reduced to her babysitter. Ana had won beyond the grave.

She did not want **that**.

As she closed onto those soft, delicate lips, Angela vowed it would happen many more times. Wondering how many mornings she could make Fareeha's body go soft, how many times she could make all worries and fears fade into nothingness. How many nights Mercy would make Pharah scream her name or whisper tender words of serenity in the early hours of dawn.

Then, Zarya showed up.

Three weeks after fearing Fareeha was lying in a ditch somewhere, long dead and rusting, she had returned, much to Angela's joy. They took care of each other. Loved each other. Bickered a little, smiled together. Enjoyed the sights of each other's face. Every day, Angela learnt something new of Fareeha. Fareeha, in return, learnt many new things about Angela.

It was too good to last. Who else would show up.

 _Ana was alive._

 **Much to Angela's joy.**

Fareeha promised she'll have the tattoo after the meeting. Angela assured, over and over, that Ana would not take her away from her.

Debt or not, **she** had the keys to the docks.

And to Fareeha's heart.

Pharah insisted only once. And Mercy relented.

Silence. A soft intake of breath. A pair of arms tightened the muscles, wordlessly clinging for support. Forgetting her previous thoughts, she resumed, hoping her affirming tone was soothing, rather than commanding.

"But… I am here. If you need to talk."

 _I will listen._

When Fareeha finally brought herself to speak again, her voice was filled with pain. "I should've told you. Before accepting Zarya's request, I had already seen Ana. Near my father's grave."

A sharp intake ushered from Angela's lips. But nothing more.

"It… it was his anniversary when I, I saw her again."

Fareeha opened her mouth to speak, but no words came out.

Mercy stayed silent, as promised. "She had to come back that day." Perhaps it was pride. Perhaps it was disbelief. Fareeha kept a choke from escaping her mouth. "Of all days…" Swallowing down words before they met her tongue, Pharah kept trying to hold demure emotions still, the only evidence of anger and grief swirling in her eyes.

Another long stare was ushered by Mercy, uncaring if any emotion flied through the cracks at this point.

Angela finally found Fareeha's eyes.

They were glistening, brimmed with unused tears, keeping the burden all to herself.

"I'm sorry. I… I don't want to…"

Lifting a hand gently to cup her face, two sides of the angelic crime boss wanted nothing but the same thing.

"Let it all out."

 _Let it out._

"I'll listen."

 _I'm here for you._

That was all Fareeha needed to hear. A definite sob left the Egyptian, breaking through all barriers she had kept until that moment. Her grief on the inside surfaced on the outside. "She, she was alive. She, she was-was alive this whole, whole time. What the hell- what the hell did I cry to, a fu-fucking empty grave, a fucking, fucking joke…?!" Instinctively, Angela reached out, snow white hands tangled themselves into ink black hair, moving the parts of her bangs falling between her eyes. Burying her face into Angela's gown, she cried.

She despised seeing Fareeha like this.

Mercy recalled when she mourned Ana's death. Those tears rolling down Fareeha's cheeks beside the now known vacant tombstone were still fresh in Angela's mind. Whispers had echoed amongst the gathered crowd, surprised to see a woman like Fareeha was still able to weep. Angela could only observe her grief from afar, not wanting any sort of affection to be confused for pity. She took over the docks out of safety.

Took Fareeha in officially as her _ward_.

It was too soon for her to lead the Amari empire. It was too soon…

For anything.

"Hush… hush. Let it out. Keep talking…"

 _"What else is there to say-?!"_

Fareeha froze when she noticed Angela flinching towards her tone of voice, instantly processing her lack of control.

"I'm… I'm so sorry… I shouldn't have-"

Instead of a retort, Fareeha felt herself being pulled towards the reclining of the mattress. Looking up, whatever stiffness from the previous flinching was but a forgotten memory. Gritting her teeth, Fareeha clenched her fists into the sheets, still keeping Angela close with her whole body. "She's, she's alive. Alive. I-I thought… I thought I didn't have the chance to say goodbye…"

Gently keeping her warm, Angela made sure to remove all traces of tears with soothing touches, letting Fareeha hold her wrists down tightly when their foreheads met. Mercy whispered sweet nothings only for Fareeha to hear, listening to raw emotions in silence.

 _…sh…_

Afraid she would disappear, the guard clutched onto Mercy's embrace, her calm soothing the pain, the uncontrollable pain.

It is against the sound of Angela's heartbeat Fareeha falls asleep to.

* * *

When dawn nears, Angela slowly woke up with Fareeha curled up in her arms, lying perfectly content as she was, staying still as she sleeps.

In spite of not being fully awake herself, she enjoyed the quiet peace around them, wanting to believe Fareeha thought the same when she usually rose before her. She wished to snuggle a little more, the idea of staying with the snoozing Egyptian becoming more appealing every second, but doing so would prevent either mobster from attending the long announced gathering.

Going through the trouble of being there was important.

More because of Pharah than the usual business.

Placing the worn night gown from the night before tightly above her shoulders, Angela fixed the bed sheet softy to cover Fareeha's exposed back, getting out of the oaken framework quietly, aiming to get a quick shower in the morning.

Which she would have, if it wasn't for a pair of clumsily searching muscular arms grabbing her sluggishly by the waist, pulling her close.

Grumbling in her sleep, Fareeha rested long, raven black hair onto the blonde's side, still nesting inside the bed's interior. Angela in return leaned heavily on the wooden board, drawing the lavish bed curtains lightly, lost in thought.

Just a few hours prior, Fareeha was sobbing in her sleep, holding onto Angela for dear life.

"Where are you going?" Eyelids still heavily closed from sleep, drowsiness seeped through the tone of Fareeha's voice. "You're my pancake, gotta keep you warm and toasty..." There was no one awake to witness Angela's smile. Fareeha was definitely still asleep. "You're going… _nowhere_ … _zzz_ …" This did not prevent Angela from adding another adjective to the mental 'what Fareeha loves calling her' list.

Something churned inside at the memory of the first affectionate endearment she had used.

 _Morning angel._

She wasn't exactly who you'd call one of them, but whenever Fareeha called her that... a foreign feeling always invaded her sense of reasoning. (Maybe it was because Fareeha saw her so, somehow.) A small smile kept tugging on her lips in spite all efforts.

Barely raising her voice, Angela gently coaxed Fareeha to let her go, saying the word she despised the most.

"Please Faree. We have to go." Her small endearment in return finally made Fareeha wake up, slowly becoming conscious from deep slumber.

A wicked grin replaced the sheepish one from moments before. "Mornin' babe."

Leaning backwards to leave a little kiss on Pharah's forehead, Angela wiggled out of the embrace enough to convince her lover to let go, carefully climbing out of bed. Fareeha already missed the sensation of Angela's long strands of hair tickling her nose.

"You can stay a little longer. I'll wash first. I won't take long." Propping one elbow on the mattress, a sly smile ushered on Fareeha's face, extending the strong but beautiful features residing against the mattress, a dash of pink lighting up tanned cheekbones.

"If you do, I'll come spy you in the shower." Fareeha never actually did. Despite being lovers, they hadn't shared the pleasures of a shared bath or shower yet. Angela either washed first as this morning, or was already drying herself up by the time Fareeha was awake.

She always showered alone.

Missing the tug pulling the night gown closer, Fareeha kept on smiling. Angela hid a vulnerable side of her, holding the door outwards slightly.

"If you do, I'll be _forced_ to call security."

Accepting Fareeha's cloddish attempt to hold her back with another hug ("I **_am_** security.") Angela unlocked the bodyguard's playful grip by leaving an unexpectedly soft peck planted tenderly on a crown filled with moon shadowed hair, liking how easily tight arms melted away from the grasp with a simple touch.

After a few minutes, Angela walked into the bathroom, a sharp noise indicating the entrance was locked. Sighing, Fareeha reluctantly got up from the comforting sensation of being wrapped away from any sort of obligations, starting her own morning routine by applying light moisturiser on her tired face.

She needed to shake it up a little.

Eyeing the suit Fareeha partially wore the previous night, a slight moment of anxiety sat heavily on her broad chest. Deciding to ignore it for the time being, Fareeha teased Angela a little more. "Ziegler. I'm timing you. Ten minutes and I'm coming in. Even if you're not done~"

She could hear the bullet proof glass opening swiftly from where she was sitting.

"—I'd love to see you try—"

Letting out a much-needed laugh, Fareeha started applying her water proof mascara, the cascading sounds of hot water pouring down behind closed doors calming her bolted nerves.

* * *

 **Author's Notes:**

 **An except from Chapter 8, the complete version will first be posted on Ao3. How is it? Good, bad, needs improving?**

 **Take care dear readers. Also Attack on Titan and Berserk are pretty lit right nao, aren't they? 8D**


	4. Bonus Chapter II

**Bonus Chapter 2**

"You called, boss?" Pharah entered the study room when allowed. Or, as Lucio (Mercy's chief gadgeteer) calls it, the war was sitting down on the far side, staring vigilantly towards the projector. "Alright, Doctor Ziegler. Let's get to business," the bodyguard was ready for a new job. "What or who do I have to shake down, knock out, or blow up?"

The crime boss raised a remote. "The second one."

With one tap, the white wall was turned into a spiderweb of information.

Seven figures where highlighted on the screen.

The one in the middle connected them all.

Finally. A **real** job.

"This, is Leon Strauss. Former second in command of the deceased Yazuka boss, Hanzo Shimada. One of the few... survivors of the Shimada massacre. Have you heard of him?" The dragon tattoo on his neck may have been scratched off. But the criminal's mug was enough to make Pharah recall his name within the underworld.

Pale blonde locks. Lantern jawline. More (tacky) tattoos than you can could count. One distinctive golden tooth.

"The White Snake. Schlange."

Mercy nodded.

"He found employment in the Swedish mafia now. Heard he's quite handsomely paid. So much so, he has no idea what to do with the money."

Another image. This time, co-ordinates were shown, various footage of monthly gambling games followed. "My sources have been tracking him for months. After three, we've discovered he always calls for a poker game, with six individuals on a monthly basis, methodologically on the twenty ninth."

Mercy called them out, one by one. Pharah made a mental projection of her own of all targets.

"...last by not least. Amanda 'Mimi' Amendola. Known as the Anaconda. Age 36. Knife expert, very efficient in martial arts," Mercy turned around, facing Pharah for the first time during the meeting. "I suggest you either knock senseless or kill this one first before the main target."

Red hair. Green eyes. Tat sleeves all over the place. Must be Schlange's right hand woman. One hell of a mole.

Pharah was all for obeying the boss. But if she **\- finally -** had a real job, she had to at least know why.

He was related to the eliminated Shimada clan after all. "Has this man pissed us off in any way, boss...?"

For a moment, Fareeha thought Doctor Ziegler looked weary and tired. But then, she could swear the colour of her eyes changed.

"You do not have to perform this task. Completely optional. If you do, only the killing of Schlange is mandatory. Whether you spare or kill the rest is up to you."

Like when putting out fire with gasoline.

"Let's just say... he has it coming. Do you accept?"

∆ Refuse Job

□ Make a pun

O Mention Anubis

 **X Impress Boss**

That was enough. Pharah did not make her bones at age eleven for nothing.

"So... time to shake the heat, then."

A crack of a smile escaped Angela's lips.

* * *

Three weeks pass.

The bells were ringing.

It was late at night. A lot of important guests were invited to the grand opening of the opera event hosting the Gibraltar Philharmonic Society. The opera in question was a famous French play made by Georges Bizet. A grey Mercedes parked in the vicinity.

A tall, tanned woman emerged from the heavy duty vehicle, wearing a black tie. The tailored tuxedo and sharp, well shined black shoes showed she was dressed for the occasion. The gloved figure in question opened the back seat.

Two long, elegant legs belonging to a woman wearing one of the finest ivory clothes and jewellery money can buy exited the car, heels first, marking the pavement. After stepping over the used cigarette, the lady in white fixed her black coat, the surrounds giving a chill breeze around them. The bodyguard followed the European woman in her late 30s by her side.

You can tell the figure in black was a bodyguard by her imposing posture and authority oozing from it. She was not wearing an earpiece or special glasses. She didn't need them. She learn how to shoot and fight without depending on fancy gadgets.

Although her employer insisted she would wear a smartwatch made especially for her to use to complete assignments.

The bodyguard could've refused to use it.

She left the handkerchief that was beside the tux and the old, worn out shoes behind instead.

Pharah, the main heir to the arms dealing empire of the Amari crime syndicate, was not someone to mess with. Neither was the main head of the Amari family, despite her recent disappearance. The Eagle and Jackal's names made veteran mafiosi feel the rattle of death's chains cling around their necks with a single mention.

Like a shadow flawlessly following the owner, Pharah stayed by Mercy's side until she was ready.

Her boss, Dr Angela Ziegler, best known in the mafia circles by the name of Mercy, Angel of Death, hired her precisely for those reasons. Purse in hand, tied up hair (for a change) not having a single strand out of place, Mercy looked expectantly at the hired muscle. Pharah was wearing everything but the handkerchief. A look of disappointment was quickly replaced by a well worn mask made out of cold indifference.

"Shall we?"

Pharah gave one quick nod to the boss, having missed the previous glance.

"Follow me."

* * *

Yellow, red and brown.

These where the colours invading the two gangsters' sight, who were walking towards the horseshoe shaped theatre side by side.

Angela was an expected guest for the event. She did not want to be there. But it was not exactly an invitation that could be refused.

And wherever she went...

The crime boss showed the VIP pass for the both of them.

"Halt. We have to see if you are carrying anything that could be seen as a potential danger."

They frisked Mercy first. Nothing. Pharah still cannot believe this stupid, out dated behaviour from the British.

Inspecting a bodyguard. For _weapons_.

"All clear. You may continue. Enjoy the evening, ma'am."

* * *

Mercy started talking to the patrons and the celebrity guests in the area, always ready to show politeness to the subjects that interest her. And indifference to what (and who) did not. Discussing about the opera and her hotel business when people spotted the owner of famous luxury hotels around the world, she was always the one to have the first and last word. Pharah meanwhile, stayed in the background, cautious but mencing.

"Doctor Ziegler!"

Mercy and Pharah turned towards the happy person in question.

"Should I intervene?"

"Not yet. I want to know who it is."

A Chinese figure came in the picture. Mercy let out a rare genuine smile. "Professor Xiaujo! What a pleasant surprise," They greeted each other like old friends would. "What makes you come back here in Gibraltar?"

"I'm like you, my dear old friend. Here to finally see and hear the rising theatre star, the great contralto Orisa, at least once in her lifetime." The professor gave a beaming smile, scratching her head. "At least I can say I've managed. You know how busy I am..."

As they talked about old times, Pharah noticed someone staring oddly at Mercy. He looked at her as if his face had a mix of curiosity and wonder. He looked harmless. But just in case... Pharah mentally prepared a profile in her mind concerning the pencil shaped moustached man.

She won't forget him now.

Judging by his clothes, posture and the way people are all gathered around him...

 **Ah.** The maestro.

After excusing himself with the guests around him, the gentleman walked towards them, aiming straight for Doctor Ziegler.

He had to go through the black tower first.

"My cher, I know you are following orders..." His voice wavered, clearly intimidated by the bodyguard's impressive physique, hardened by a lifetime of nasty murders and crime related jobs. "But I merely wish to have a word with the lovely doctor you are guarding. Is that a problem...?"

Mercy finished her conversation with the lecturer on a good note, saluting the maestro with formal greeting. "Good evening, Mister Lacroix. A pleasure to finally meet you."

She offered him her hand. Gerard left a small peck on the gloved palm. "Enchanted, mademoiselle."

Deep, blue eyes flickered towards the bodyguard, a slight twitch on her lips. Pharah resumed doing her duty, getting closer to the French maestro. They continued their conversation in fluid French, for awhile. The Egyptian understood the conversation perfectly, but did not join in. She was not introduced to the conductor anyway.

Nor did she want to be.

"Pardon me, mademoiselle... I must ask you, it has been a nagging thought. Your name happens to be Angela Ziegler, n'est pas?"

Mercy gave a light nod. "That is correct, monsieur."

"You do not happen to be related to the same Doctor Ziegler from the infamous Yakuza attack, are you? The Nobel Prize winner?"

Any amusement Angela had with the conversation vanished with that sentence.

Gerard did not notice her stiffness, curiosity from before returning in his gaze. "Do forgive me if I'm being rude. But the resemblance is uncanny... they say that poor young doctor is still missing to this day, or so I heard. Do you know about it, madame? It has been awhile..."

Pharah was ready to intervene, but she had to listen to the boss' instructions first. Going straight for an attack would lead the Frenchman connecting the dots.

A smile showed up on Mercy's face, calming Pharah's stance.

It was fake. But there was no need to push the maestro away.

"Believe me, Mister Lacroix, you are not the first person to tell me that. No, I'm afraid I am not related to that poor girl. Although... I have heard of her story."

"That poor thing," the maestro shook his head in complete empathy. "How old was she...? Mid, early twenties...? Her work was incredible. A prodigy at such a young age. She had just started her life." The Frenchman did not mean to harm Angela. "To lose her like that to such vile criminals... that woman could've saved countless of lives by now."

Mercy didn't feel anything to that. Sadness, perhaps. But nothing else.

"Yes... she could've."

Pharah joined the conversation, manners be damned.

"Forgive the interruption, Doctor." She nodded towards Mercy, the Frenchman. "Maestro Lacroix. But I believe the opera will start soon."

Monsieur Lacroix checked his pocket watch, snapping it shut.

"Mais oui, of course you are right madame! Dear me, how time flies. Well... I enjoyed our conversation Doctor Ziegler. I hope you will enjoy tonight's performance. We shall leave you and your friend over here completely breathless tonight." He left on good terms, making an old fashioned curtsy towards both women. Gerard proceeded towards a tall, elegant woman who was also completely dressed in white. She looked of Asian descent. "Ah, madame! Bon! You finally made it-!"

He continued the conversation in Japanese. They small talked about the weather and the upcoming performance. The teal haired damsel was carrying a well decorated violin case. It looked expensive. Her... very effeminate boyfriend? It looked like it. He stayed close to the violinist, looking at the fiddler as if she was his pride and joy.

Mercy leaned towards Pharah, looking at the direction of her cone vision. "That, is a woman. Pharah."

The bodyguard's stoic facade did not betray her surprise. But her eyes spoke for themselves.

"How can you tell, boss?"

"Cheek bone structure. You can tell right away if you're a good doctor. My profession has perks beyond prestige and pay."

A blush started creeping up on the guard's neck. Was... was that a joke?

Pharah was instantly reminded of the conversation they had a few hours prior...

* * *

 _She arrived at the penthouse, giving that blasted bird the boss cared for a chocolate chipped cookie it did not deserve._

 _"Fareeha! Cookie?"_

 _But at least that shuts it up. Two quick taps on Mercy's door. "You may enter."_

 _"You called, boooaaa...?"_

 _All of Fareeha's expectations flew out of the window. She'd have to be blind and dead **and blind** to not admit that her boss, Angela Ziegler, was a beautiful woman. Despite her very cold exterior. But the way that white suit fitted her like a tailored glove..._

 _The boss cleared her throat, wearing her crystal blue earrings._

 _"Are you done staring, Pharah? We have a play to attend to, need I remind you."_

 _That statement made Pharah go back to guard mode. But not before letting an unfiltered comment out, risking a little._

 _"It suits you."_

 _Mercy, with long, blonde hair still loose against her shoulders, stiffened. She gave one, icy stare at the guard._

 _"It... suits me?" The boss stared towards the mirror incredolously. "Did you just say my suit... suits me?"_

 _Pharah was ready to apologise, even though it felt like grovelling. For Ana's sake..._

 _Wait. Was that a **smile**? Nah. She must have-_

 _Mercy let out a small laugh, repeating what Pharah said merely a few moments ago._

 _Pharah couldn't decide if she had to be annoyed or offended by that reaction._

 _Like it came, it went. Mercy went back to business._

 _"Remember you have a job to complete during the play. We're not going there for simple leisure."_

 _The bodyguard nodded. "Understood, boss."_

 _"I called you to pick up the items on my desk. They are for you to use. Only the tuxedo and shoes are obligatory from the inventory."_

 _Okay. Enough. She is not a child._

 _"I think I can dress for myself."_

 _Mercy continued as if she didn't hear Pharah's statement. "This is a black tie, formal event. Your suits are in need of dry cleaning coincidentally. And **you** are going with **me**." Mercy walked straight to the Egyptian, one finger prodding into her chest in a commanding manner. "You will be dressed appropriately tonight. Believe me, they will be useful."_

 _Sighing, the former soldier picked up the package the boss told her about. "Is there anything else...?"_

 _The boss returned to her hair, looking for light coloured hair pins._

 _"Just that. I will be done in thirty minutes. Be sure to be in the car by then."_

 _One salute and a quick click from Pharah's shoes._

 _"Yes boss."_

* * *

 _Fareeha looked at the note Lucio left with his equipment._

 _A new smartphone. Nice shoes. Oh, that will come in handy. The tux isn't that bad, honestly..._

 _Fareeha let out a low whistle as she fixed the fancy black tie. She stared at the handkerchief. There was Mercy's symbol on it. Folding it, she placed it in a sleeve, intending to take it with her to the apartment later. No need to have that on tonight. Opening a small velvet box, Pharah started attaching a pair of golden cuffs, representing the boss' sigillo._

 _Shame she'll have to remove them later._

* * *

 _Mercy waited until the Egyptian closed the door before a rare, beautiful smile emerged between her and the mirror. That was the first pun Pharah made since becoming her bodyguard. Angela fixed the winged shaped white gold cufflinks, pins in mouth._

 _Her previous worries temporary gone._

 _"It suits me..."_

* * *

Mercy and Pharah found their seats, boss sitting down first. The bodyguard stayed beside her by obligation, for the time being.

The lights around the stage were still switched on. She stared at her jet black watch. It was soon time.

"Pharah."

The bodyguard observed thoughtfully. The boss was testing the theatre glass given to them before entering their stall. The auditorium was beautiful. They had a good location to enjoy the spectacle.

"You are not wearing the handkerchief."

An elegant eyebrow was raised to that. "Is that important?" Pharah smiled. "I've seen others without theirs-"

A gloved hand was raised in her direction. It contained a single, black handkerchief. Mercy did not break away from the glasses. "I do not care about the others. You are with _me_. You need to dress appropriately. Wear it."

Pharah did not miss the lingering touch of the boss' hand this time, but pretended not to notice.

She was on duty. "If you insist, boss."

Making one fold, the handkerchief was placed at the front of the tuxedo. It did clash a little, black against black.

The lack of any emotion on Mercy's face made Pharah frown a little.

She looked back at the watch. Pharah had to go. The poker game she wasn't invited to had just started.

"Pharah."

The bodyguard stopped, looking back at the seated woman. She lowered her fancy spectacles.

"Do come back in one piece."

Was that... concern? "If I don't, I'll be out of a job," Pharah smiled. "Be back in twenty."

Mercy almost smiled back. But it didn't last long. She had a bad feeling growing in the pits of her stomach since the beginning of the day. As if something bad was going to happen. She was just being paranoid. She was just being paranoid.

The conversation she had with the conductor was still fresh in her mind. To be reminded of _those_ days like that.

It was already bad enough his name was Gerard...

* * *

The lights begun to fade. Formal introductions and gratitude to the production crew started to unfold.

"May we present you, Maestro Lacroix-!"

The Asian woman from before was ahead of the first row. The warm up of all songs started to play. She did not.

Angela had a slight suspicion as to why the dark blue eyed violist remained silent. Considering the violin case...

As the audience applauded, the feeling of anxiety in the crime boss did not leave.

That was never a good sign.

* * *

Fareeha looked at her surroundings.

She was now outside of the theatre, having reached the rooftops from the window of the main restroom.

Which was quite fancy. It even had nice face towels and all. Pharah reminded herself to steal one for record purposes later.

One minute was passed to enjoy the light breeze in the air, preparing herself mentally and physically for what was next.

 _Hey. The city is almost tolerable from up here._

Less polluted too.

* * *

The play finally started, the orchestra making the relevant cues through the conductor's guidance.

The guards were waiting for their shift to end, the two main characters met and started their conversation.

Mercy was enjoying it so far. It was a good distraction. Until she looked to her left, at Fareeha's empty seat.

"Not you. What are you doing here."

"Is that how you talk to a dear old friend?"

As the play kept going, Angela glared at the intruder. "Every time **you** show up, something bad happens."

"You know that is just coincidence. If anything, I'm here for your safety. And it has been awhile since I last saw you." As Jose arrived with the new guard, the stranger looked towards the actors. "Nice trick you did there with the handkerchief. Next time though, leave lipstick on it. Maybe she would've spared you the excuse."

Mercy lifted her theatre glasses, not wanting to listen to what the intruder was saying.

"I'm just saying."

The skies were looking grey. Thunder echoed in the distance.

Fareeha reached a red coloured rooftop.

Placing one finger on her tongue, she checked the wind's direction.

North east.

And considering they were south, judging by the smartwatch's app...

Mentally checking the theatres location from there, Fareeha looked ahead. "I gotta go this way."

In case something went wrong, she had to leave her tracks uncovered till that landmark. But now it was a different story.

Back at the play, the cigar girls were heavily debating with the young men.

 _"Regardez..."_

 _"Là bas..."_

 _"Elle est belle..."_

 _"Gitan... c'est le gitan..."_

Fareeha reached her destination.

She was at the outskirts of a worn out hotel, looking at two sides from a safe hiding spot.

The murmurs between the crowd and the audience started growling, until they both came to a halt.

With a flick of a wrist, the maestro tapped his white baton twice towards the musical sheet, getting all of the orchestra's attention.

To the left, there was no one, as scheduled. To the right, a growing hum of noise and foggy cigarette smoke emerged from the right window. A camera turned slowly on the left side, aimed squarely for both entrances. Fareeha could've used her new toy to disable the camera.

But that won't make the job more fun. After all, it doesn't feel like work...

When you so thoroughly enjoy it.

Timing the camera's rhythm right, Pharah aimed to make a leap of faith. Towards the left window.

First the front row of cellos. They kept growing rapidly in a crescendo. Then the first row of violins. They made one note, staying on the lowest possible, raising in volume, without overtaking the first instruments. The fiddlers in the second row helped accompany the slow, building tempo, as the Asian woman prepared herself.

The French conductor pointed towards the sole violinist at the front, pride clearly showing towards his own prodigy.

Ah. Angela guessed right. The musician somehow came into possession of a Lipinski Stradivarius...

The teal haired woman in question made one, single note, higher than all the rest, matching the cellos, as all instructed instruments made their own concerto. The conductor introduced beat subdivisions as it it were nothing, every slight gesture dictating the downbeat and upbeats waves of the beautiful music. This kept going until only the cellos and the Stradivarius were the only notes filling the theatre's auditorium.

Fareeha entered the room through the open window, careful about the camera's blind spot.

All lights went out, in a curtain of darkness. Maestro Gerard timed the silencing of the orchestra to perfection, one hand snuffing it out like a candle. A woman dressed completely in red was the only person visible in the whole theatre.

It was the perfect atmosphere to murder someone.

The bodyguard had all night to complete this jaunt. But she liked to time herself. Never leaving her fate to chance. She remembered Mercy's instructions when it came to the smartwatch. The laughter, swearing and rumble from the other side was audible through the paper thin walls.

The red button on the side was ignored. She placed a timer on the watch.

Ten minutes.

More than enough.

* * *

Arms carve in air. The famous Habanera starts.

The Juilliard trained opera singer started to sing her beautiful and much anticipated melody, purity flowing through her voice.

 _-"L'amour est un oiseau rebelle_  
 _Que nul ne peut apprivoiser~"-_

The two women absorbed the spectacle, as the opera singer kept awing her audience, in a Watsonian and Doylist manner.

"She is too dignified to be Carmen."

The lady to the right shook her head. "Speak for yourself. I enjoy this interpretation. It is new."

The one on the left placed a hand on her chin. "We agree to disagree."

Fareeha wore the green vest, leaving the expensive tux and handkerchief neatly folded on the floor. On the cleanest surface Pharah could (somehow) find. Her disguise was complete. She looked exactly like a hotel attendant from the two star building.

At least she planted one of her size.

Mercy's mobile started vibrating. Reluctantly lowering the binoculars, she almost groaned at the sender's name.

=Hellooo my old friend. You haven't paid all your dues yet~

"Answer back. She won't leave you alone if you don't."

The crime boss did not feel like blabbering in the air.

=I already have.

=Well, yes. But I want more than the usual loot for the Schlange sting. I mean, I deserve it, no?

=Do not threaten **me** , Sombra.

=Oh no I'm not. Anything but. Madama An-gel-a. Just remember...

Mercy switched the mobile's screen off, not bothering to read Sombra's message.

=I will want a **real** reward next time. For treating you right~

The bodyguard walked towards the bathroom, gun pointing towards a cheap painting mounted on the wall.

The opera singer was presently only backed up by the pedal harpist and her performance.

Even without the backing instruments, it carried the play all by itself.

Under the sink.

Behind the towel rack.

Beneath the toilet flush.

The room is never visited by clientele of the hotel due to it containing a crime that was never solved. They say the area was still haunted by the previous guests. If they were here somewhere, they must've checked out.

The violins start building up, as the maestro mutes the sounds of the main orchestra as if they were under water.

Until an index finger is raised out, music pours forth.

Set up muzzles.

One silencer, one suppressor.

Insert clips.

Rafa and Eadala were back in business.

Pharah removed the painting from its place. Behind it, a well drilled hole. She studied the table on the other side carefully.

Six gamblers were around the gaming floor, somehow playing their high valued chips and money through a sickeningly thick veil of smog. "There must be a mistake." Groans and raspy laughter emerged from the pit. "My payout's too high!"

The red haired woman was there. Playing the high stakes poker game. So were the rest.

But not the target.

Fareeha told Ziegler she'll return in twenty minutes.

Ten have already passed. No time to waste, even if she would've preferred a clean job. Time is of essence.

She'll have to lure Schlange out. Plan B.

 _-"L'amour! L'amour!"-_

Contrasting deeply with the provocative, sensual lyrics, the chorus represented the audience's awe towards the gypsy.

 _-"L'amour! L'amour!"-_

Aiming for the adjoined door, Pharah missed an eight foot tall man passing by the table game for just one minute, tenderly ruffling bright red hair on his way to the toilet. Picking the lock with a thin tool, raspy swearing in Portuguese came through the locked door. "Moleeeeey~"

The bodyguard felt a little unsettled, but ignores the feeling.

As the Stradivarius accompanied the singer's beautiful melody, Mercy quietly enjoyed the visual and audible spectacle on display.

The handle made a satisfying click, catching a groove, indicating it was now open.

The gamblers were too busy with the game, embarrassing the only woman amongst them to notice.

Putting the tools aside, Pharah studied the austere table one more time. She could see Schlange's distinctive platinum hair at the far edge.

She exited the room through the main door, leaving it slightly opened.

Two, loud knocks on the white door.

"I'll get it."

Green eyes shone through the spy hole.

"Who are **you**? How long have you been there-?"

It was the woman.

"Room service."

"We didn't order-"

Good enough.

 **\- bang -**

A swarm of blue and black surrounded the red woman, love and lust oozing from all the guards' affections.

Except for one. The only guard who held Carmen's heart.

 _-"Si tou ne m'aimes pas,_

 _Si tou ne m'aimes pas, je t'aime~"-_

Fareeha dashed back into her room, locking the brown door fast as she could. She peeped through the drilled hole one last time.

"What the fuck-?"

"Someone shoot us!"

 **"BOSS! THEY GOT MIMI-!"**

All six people on the other side were too busy moving Mimi's corpse out of the way. Thinking her killer was still facing the door.

 **"FIRE!** **SHOOT THAT FUCKING DOOR DOWN-!"**

As the former players emptied all their ammo towards the entrance, Fareeha went a few feet towards the connecting (and unlocked) door.

Placed one foot firmly ahead of her.

Taking only Eadala out from the holster.

Pharah took one step back. Whole body pointing towards the one barrier between her and all targets.

As she waited for the signal.

 **\- click -**

 **\- click -**

 **\- click -**

 **\- click -**

 **\- click-**

 **\- click-**

There it is.

And charged with all her might.

Leaving dust behind, only one thought was on her mind.

 **RUN.**

The door came crashing down like wet, tissue paper.

 **"WHAT THE-?"**

Eadala firmly in the air, adrenaline rushing in her veins, six bullets pierced through the room.

Six targets.

Six head-shots.

By the time their bodies reached the ground, they were already dead.

Discarding the heated cartridges of both guns, the bodyguard let out a satisfied smile, taking time to refill the rotating chambers.

"Too easy."

The maestro's presence was translated though the flautists, clarinets and tambourines accompanying the contralto's pleasantly refined voice. The control and mastery of said voice matched the atmosphere and tempo of the play itself. Carmen was now attempting to seduce the only man she couldn't captivate.

Angela looked to her right. That was the third time she looked at her watch.

"She's taking too long."

Annoyed with herself, she looked elsewhere. "Stop being sentimental."

The woman to her left gave her a long, scrutinising stare.

 _'I'm you.'_

Letting out her frustrations through a sigh, Mercy raised her theatre glasses once more.

Placing the Eagle XIX back into its place, Fareeha walked over the dead bodies and used FAMAS G1s, poking the main target's face with her well shined shoes. "Schlange, Schlange. Schlange," his golden tooth went well with her shoe. Pharah couldn't help but sneer. "Get up. You'll be late for school."

A sudden sound came flying through the air. Fareeha instantly moved away from the bullet's trajectory.

It was aimed for her heart. Instead, it cut through her right shoulder until it met the bone, staying there.

 **"FUCK-!"**

Aiming Eadala to the attacker, Fareeha did not expect who was in front of her.

"Cutthroat Bill-?"

Eight foot tall. Monstrous appearance. Rat like face. Metal jaw.

A belt alongside suspenders-?

"The fuck are **you** doing here-?"

The answer was in the rat faced man's reaction towards a certain red haired corpse.

The firearm dropped on the floor. Bill's reaction was of one who attempted to take his own life.

And failed.

 **"MIMI-!"**

He ran over towards Mimi, completely ignoring Fareeha's flabbergasted reaction.

Cradling the woman's bleeding face in a comforting manner, the man placed her forehead against his, barely managing to hold in tears.

No one should suffer that kind of pain, no matter their background. Fareeha cursed herself, despite the pain searing in her own shoulder.

Had she knew about this, she might've been a little more patient with the poker game and shot only Schlange through the hole, as originally planned. Maybe used Rafa on the woman to stun, not shoot her through the eye as bait.

Could've. Buts. What ifs.

You cannot afford to have regrets in this line of work. Fareeha's main regret was not knowing of the extra person in the area before it was too late. It would've avoided a lot of shit for the both of them.

"You've got to be **fucking kidding me**."

At that moment, it was best to remain silent.

The second Pharah spoke, Bill raised his head, still holding the woman's face tenderly with both hands.

Anger. Grief. Sorrow.

Pure, unadulterated **rage.**

Taking the Anaconda's unused Randall 18 out from its sheet, Cutthroat Bill went straight for Pharah's throat.

Despite emptying both beloved firearms into him.

The raging bull did not go down.

 **"FUUCK-!"**

As Carmen's love kept ignoring her, Mercy started to get worried.

But didn't show it.

 _'I think we're wasting precious time staying here, no?'_

Carmen brought out her famous orange, throwing it in the air.

"Pharah knows how to do her job. She will be fine."

All enamoured guards reached out for it. Carmen picked it before hitting the ground up like it was nothing, teasing them further.

 _'Since when do **you** use the third person to delude yourself?'_

Mercy glared at her former self.

 _'I thought you won't let anyone stop you from getting what you want?'_

Angela glared back with the same ferocity.

 _'Or was that a lie?'_

Mercy lied down against her seat, defeat clearly in her eyes.

Five more minutes.

That was all the extra time she was giving Fareeha.

The crime boss turned to her wrist watch, waiting until the minute hand reached the 12 point.

Pharah manged to block Cut's frenzied knife attack, disarming him of the weapon far as possible.

She still had to get rid of his clammy hands choking her throat, who slammed the Egyptian up and down against the floor in an attempt to stun.

"In - my - defen - ce - you - shouldn't - be - herrrree-!"

With a quick movement, Fareeha moved her lower body to direct her free foot towards the attacker's ribs.

Cut let go in agony, as the blade from the newly acquired shoes pierced right through unsuspecting flesh.

Fareeha couldn't celebrate victory for long.

 _ **That just made him angrier.**_

Taking advantage of Pharah's injury, Bill grabbed Fareeha from the right shoulder, pulled her arm upwards.

And with quick, rapid precision, dislocated it savagely.

Too stunned with pain, Pharah couldn't stop Bill from him throwing her towards the nearest, hardest object.

The betting table.

Pharah tried getting back on her feet, but Bill did not give the Egyptian any chances.

 **"This is for Mimi-!"**

A cracking, whooshing noise was heard in the air.

 **\- WUH - PSSSH -**

Fareeha felt tough leather surround her throat. "Shit, so that's **wwwh-eraghh-!"**

As Bill kept pulled the belt upwards to choke Pharah to death, he only had one thing to say.

 **"DIE! DIE! DIEEEEEEE-!"**

Using his weight to pin down the soldier, Bill had one foot on the injured shoulder, the other on Fareeha's left foot.

The right foot was free, but uselessly so in that condition.

Pharah started to see black spots around her vision.

She could see Anaconda's knife a few inches away from her.

 **FUCK! I NEED THAT-!**

Pharah lunged for it, blood pounding through her whole being. Bill responded by lifting the belt around her neck more towards him. Not noticing the knife of his beloved being merely a few meters away from her killer in his quest for revenge.

 **"DIE-!"**

Mercy got up from her chair. The play will keep going with or without her.

Angela looked at her own Rolex.

 _'One hundred and eighty seconds.'_ A light, satisfied smirk was seen on her former self. _'A new record.'_

The door was slammed shut, the only noise indicating Mercy's leave in the vicinity.

 _I... I can't make it..._

Many people say you see your life flash in front of you as you are near death.

All what Pharah was seeing, feeling and hearing right then was the want of having this **MOTHERFUCKER OFF HER HOWEVER POSSIBLE.**

The lunge for the knife started to lessen.

A silver cane was now on the side of Fareeha's sight.

A painfully familiar one.

مستعد دائماً

 **Always Prepared.**

Following the family motto engraved on it in Arabic, scarlet eyes met only one. One eye that was neither forgiving or lenient.

 **"A-Ana-!"**

Her mother's eye saw Fareeha on the ground, pinned down by a muscle soldier.

 _You are a disgrace._

Gritting her teeth, Pharah held back the pain.

Used the free foot as leverage.

And lunged for the knife one last time.

Grabbing the Randall 18, Fareeha plunged the sharp blade deeply into the nearest foot she could find.

 **"ARRRRRRGH-!"**

Using the knife handle as balance, Fareeha used her now two free legs to sandwich the ratman's metal jaw.

And ground grappled the bastard.

"UUUURGH-!"

Carmen's melodical laughter could still be heard in the distance, as Mercy opened the restroom window quickly.

Now Pharah was the one choking Bill with her feet, Mimi's knife still deep into one of his own.

 **"How does it feel like, eh-?"**

Pharah knew he wouldn't stay on the ground for long.

As Cut got up to fight, despite the foot square on his throat, Fareeha turned to make a powerful roundhouse kick.

Her foot landed on the jugular, shoe knife and all.

 **"AAAAAAARGH-!"**

"You didn't let me finish-! How does it feel to have a knife **plunged into you? Must be fucking ironic, don't you think Cut-?"**

Pharah pulled the weapon out of Cutthroat Bill's throat. He finally went down to his knees. One hand on the spraying blood coming from his neck, failing to keep the struck vein from leaking blood, the other reaching out for his lover one last time.

"M-... **Mi...Mi... mi...** " Down he goes.

Adrenaline now decreasing from her system, Fareeha finally realised she had a dislocated shoulder.

And a bullet within it.

And lots of blood loss around her.

Fareeha fell softly against the nearest wall, holding onto her shoulder for dear life, realising her mother's cane was still there.

But Ana was gone.

Instead, a bad omen was perched on the handle of the sliver cane, hooting softly. Turning it's head into full rotation to face Pharah, its one, red eye looked straight into the wounded bodyguard. "Come to pick me up... just like last time..." Sight started to fade. She pressed a red button on the smartwatch's edge. At least, like this, someone will give Ana's coffin company. "Just... like last time..."

The last thing Fareeha saw before fading into unconsciousness was the sight of crystal blue eyes, brilliant as the infinite sky.

The conductor finished the piece with a low murmur from the violin row's ending notes.

The tracks stopped here.

Mercy reached a red coloured rooftop. A light drizzle started falling from the sky.

Placing one finger on her tongue, she checked the wind's direction. North west.

And considering they were south, judging by the theatre's location...

 **\- beep beep -**

Mercy raised her smartphone, indicating a signal.

 _'Oh no. She never used it before.'_

Mercy looked upwards. "This makes things easier."

Mercy started running towards the signal's location, practically gliding towards her destination.

She had to hurry.

* * *

A low, peaceful hum of silence was all that could be heard. As Mercy entered the hotel through the left window, she was careful of any stray pieces of glass and furniture clearly thrown from the adjourning door.

Which was clearly busted open, barely clinging into its broken frame with one inch of wood. Mercy spotted Pharah's clothes piled neatly into a corner of the room, thankfully placed away from the debris. Angela brought a small, black baton out of her purse, pressing a button.

The pole expanded on both sides, turning the weapon into swallow blade, giving the staff a double scythe effect.

As she slowly moves towards the open door, Angela checked her surroundings.

It was too quiet.

The stench of blood and death was everywhere. Mercy skipped the open door, opting to see if anyone was hiding in the bathroo-

 _'Oh no.'_

She saw right before. Fareeha was lying down on the floor, a pool of blood encircling her body.

Retracting the blades, Mercy ran towards the Amari heiress, keeping the extended staff firmly in her palm.

"Fareeha-! **No.** Tell me I'm not too late..."

Angela placed one hand swiftly on Fareeha's wrist, loosening her grip on Rafa. Placing two fingers between the bone and the radial artery, she counted. It was faint. But the heart beat was there.

Mercy let out a deep breath, not knowing she was holding it. Thank heavens.

Following the marks of blood, Angela exposed part of Pharah's shoulder, revealing its state. In order to save Fareeha properly, Mercy had to either extracting the bullet or fix her shoulder. The environment around Pharah was too filthy to operate.

Rearranging the dislocated shoulder wins. The sooner they left this suffocating room, the better. She knew his corpse was there somewhere. Fareeha started to waken, giving much needed relief. "Pharah..." Mercy coaxed the guard gently, as their eyes met.

"It's okay... I'm here now."

"Uuuurgh..." Pharah had to explain what happened. "Bastard just... won't die..."

Bastard? She must mean Sch- "Him?" Mercy stared at the odd one out, who was facing downwards. "What is **he** doing here?"

"Fuck... fuck if I know..." She'll have to tell everything to the boss later. At that moment... Fareeha felt like utter shit.

Do come back in one piece.

 **You are a disgrace.**

 _I..._

 _I..._

 _I'm such a fucking **failure**._

"I need you to relax," Mercy went back into doctor mode, mistaking Pharah's pained expression for exhaustion. "Don't faint on me now. The shock will be less painful for the body like that..." She placed a soft side of the baton towards Pharah's mouth. "I need to reach for your opposite shoulder and push. This will hurt. Will you cooperate with me?"

Wordlessly, Pharah nodded, agreeing to all Mercy's instructions.

"One... two..."

Pharah bit the bullet down through the staff when Mercy popped the shoulder back into its place. Pain and relief went through the Egyptian. Using the black handkerchief she picked up in place of her own purse, Mercy started wiping blood and sweat away from the former soldier's face and newly fixed shoulder. Fareeha closed her eyes, enjoying the sensation.

"Now... don't make any sudden movements, your body just went through a big shock. You have lost a lot of blood too. I'll help you get back up."

No need to argue with that. Like Mercy, Pharah wanted to leave the blasted hangout rotting in memory lane.

"Understood boss."

"There you go," from the back, the spirit of the presumed dead rose. "It wasn't so hard, wasn't it..."

An eight foot tall man towered behind Mercy, a Randal 18 dripping with blood glued to his hand.

 **"Angela-!"**

Mercy immediately turned around. Instinctively, a knife slid down from her sleeve, pointed it at her target, and released.

Another sharp dagger was quickly thrown.

 **"ARRRRRRGH-! MY FUCKING EYE-!"**

Mercy was quick to reach for a flash bomb... until she took a good look at her opponent. Eyes widening, the bomb dropped on the floor unused. Now she recognised him. He was one of her -many- patients.

From a long time ago.

Cutthroat Bill also recognised Mercy. With the only functioning eye he had left.

Mouth gaping wide, in a panicked attack, Bill instinctively went for his metal jaw, vividly remembering what he went through because of the Shimadas.

Because of their assistant.

Because of the doctor.

 _ **Because of...**_

"Met... Met... **Metz... Metzg**..."

Mercy looked down. Her hands where now full of blood. She'd recognise that blood anywhere.

No.

 **No.**

 _ **No...**_

 _I don't want to go back... **no... no...**_

"Angela-!"

The sharply blue eyed woman started having heaved breaths, accidentally seeing the corpse of her torturer. The sharp, tight, rat like features of the well built (and torn apart) killer and the scratched dragon mark on Schlange's neck made Angela's vision become more life like, as she kept staring at the tainted hands.

"Boss!" Not even Pharah's voice could save her this time. **"Boss-!"**

 _"Angela! **Don't look up-!"**_

 _"Run! Safe yourself-!"_

 _"He's just a boy-!"_

 _ **"Mommy!"**_

 _"You made us do this."_

 _"No more..."_

 _"Let her go!"_

 _"Schlange. Release him."_

 _"...tonight, during the ceremony, Doctor Angela Ziegler, Age 22, was kidnapped by the Yakuza..."_

 _"This is one **hell** of a party!"_

 _"Don't move! Or we'll shoot your **precious** winner!"_

 _"Don't look up, Angela-!"_

* * *

 _ **"Don't look up-!"**_

* * *

 _Where there was once order, there was chaos._

 _In the ceremonial hallway, gun shots and screams were everywhere. A young woman tried moving two people, urging them to get up. She had managed to escape one of the Yazuka main leaders. If she ran away, she'd be safe... but not without her parents._

 _ **"Mama! Papa!"**_

 _"Run... Angela..."_

 _As she clung onto them, wanting to run away with them, the doctor's beloved parents could barely speak. "Save... yourself...RUN!"_

 _The young doctor raised her hands towards herself, not wanting to see her cherished family expire before her. She had seen enough death._

 _But if they escaped, and had help-! "No... NO! **I WON'T LEAVE WITHOUT YOU-!"**_

 _The remaining defence tried to put down the running gunman, but there were too many skillful shooters outnumbering the police force._

 _"There you are!"_

 _A harsh pull made Angela take three steps back, taking her away from her dying parents._

 _"Don't move! Or we'll shoot your **precious** winner!"_

 _Her father bellowed as hard as his strength allowed._

 _"Let her go!"_

 _Platinum hair._

 _A dragon tattoo on his neck._

 _One, distinctive golden tooth._

 _"Where are **you** going? This is one **hell** of a party! And you're our special guest of honour, Doctor Ziegler...!"_

 _"Let me go-!"_

 _"Oh yes. Family ties can hurt."_

 _ **\- bang -**_

 _ **\- bang -**_

 _Angela's screams filled the air until there was nothing left, bloodied hands reaching out for them._

 _"Now, **now** , Herr Doctor. We've released you from any extra duties. Shouldn't you be happy about that?" A gun pointed on Angela's temple. "Now. We can do this the easy way, or the hard way." Biting down onto his arm, Angela ran away as fast as she could. Until the second Shimada brother showed up before her._

 _Cold, piercing blue eyes stared back at her._

 _And a sharp, sudden strike of pain went through her head._

 _"...the easy way."_

'...tonight, during the ceremony, Doctor Angela Ziegler, Age 22, was kidnapped by the Yakuza mob...'

 _Angela woke up to that news stream, flickering through an old fashioned TV screen on the left side of the room._

 _There was a tied up man in front of her. Mid to late fifties._

 _She recognised him. Wasn't he the famous missing doctor from ten years ago...?_

 _It was then she realised._ _Her hands._

 _Legs._

 _And mouth._

 _They were all tied up to a chair. Angela mirrored the poor man perfectly, complete with terror in their eyes._

 _"Ooooh, look Boss. They're both awake. Can I start?"_

 _A cold, chilling voice echoed through the speakers._

 _'Proceed.'_

 _ **"Alright..."**_

 _Schlange sat down on a loose chair, turned it backwards, and sat again in between the prisoners. "Alright Doctor Brown. Looks like your shift is finally over. Boss told me I can release you. I kept telling you he was a generous man, did I." The elder doctor started to cry. Angela noted he had several missing fingers from both of his hands, his entire body was trembling. "Now, now Doctor... there's no need for such a commotion. I'm sure we'll meet again someday."_

 _He pointed his gun to the doctor's temple._

 _"But don't take **my** word for it."_

 _ **\- bang -**_

 _As maniacal laughter took over the room, Angela tried to loosen the ropes from her wrists, tears flowing down from the brutal execution._

 _Schlange removed exactly one rope off her with a sharp knife, leaving a scratch mark haphazardly._

 _The one holding her mouth._

 _"You do NOT want my boss to say those words towards you, Herr Doctor. I'm telling you this because **we want to keep you**."_

 _She said nothing._

 _"Pretendng to be mute?" He squashed her face. "Watch it. I'm not as patient as my boss. Ooor his brother, who doesn't pay me."_

 _Remembering her parents reach out for each other before they died, Angela had two words to say to her captors._

 _ **"FUCK YOU-!"**_

 _A powerful kick landed squarely on Angela's face. This stunned her enough from talking._

 _" **Shut up you fucking** **WHORE.** YOU THINK I'M GOING TO GO EASY ON YOU BECAUSE YOU'RE A WO-"_

'Schlange.'

 _The mobster raised his head lazily towards the speaker._

 _'Remember what I told you.'_

 _He raised his arms, hoping to incite forgiveness from his leader. "Clear, boss. I know. Precious asset, yes, yes... but... **she made me do it.** "_

 _Despite being tied down, beaten up, and with no where to go or even knew her present location, Angela still looked up to Schlange in the eye, deep blue orbs challenging him with a trace of defiance. "Ooooh, fiesty, are we? Like I said, we're aiming to keep you doc. You will do great things for us, I assure you..."_

 _He walked towards a lever. "But if you don't follow our instructions carefully... just remember."_

 _The golden tooth gleaned sickeningly in the poorly lit room._

 _" You made us do this."_

 _From the lever, sparks of purple and blue started emerging like rapid, starving snakes._

 _Connecting straight with Angela's chair and the dead man's._

 _̯̺͉̱̼͠_  
 _̴̗̳S̵͓̹̰̖̤u͉b̯͉̲̝̫j̘̯e̞̪c͇̞t̡͓̥̰ ̙̖͎̖262.̤̥̺͉̥̼̙.̗͖.̙͝_  
 _͏̪_  
 _̮̹̞͉̼W̭e ͎̜̠̹̘d̼͓̣̠͜o͇ ͖̠͍̰͙͠ͅn҉̱̻͖̺o̤̯͉̲t̶̖̝̯̤̘̤ ̵n̷͓̝̝̬ͅe҉̮̗̦͚͎͚ͅe̲̞͔d̞͈͇͙ ͍e̖̜m̪͞p̧̲̮͈̤̤h̭̭̥̰a̝̼̯̗̰̦̬ti͚̼͎̲̞c̲̪ ̣̦̪͈̻d͈̤o̷c͏̺t̸̲̖͈̠̪o̳̰͙̗̪̟͝ṟ͎s̬͈͝ ͘h̵͈ͅer̠͙͖͟ͅe͖̖͈͚̤.͕̩̠͡_  
 _̹̥̞̣̹̦͘_  
 _̻̣͇̼̰͟H̡͚͎̟e͕̭͈̰̙̻͎'̵̹s̛̪ ̴̜͓͈̪j͉̰u̷͔͕̙̤s͖̝̳̝̮͝t̰̪̬͢ ͝a̺̼̜̲̺͠ ̯bo̩͓̫̱ͅy͙̝̝̙!̡̜̤̹̭̻̗_  
 _̩̲͔̪̭̪͉_  
 _͖̩̗̳̮͍͟H̜̼̖͉̥̝i̜s̺͍͎͇͚̞͍ ̡͚̼pa̱͍̱̥͇̤r̴̻͚̝̳͕̘e̸̮̻͍̪ͅnt̯̞̭̹ͅͅs҉͚͖ ̩̮̦̬̩r͟e̦͓fu̱͇̞̦͚̞s̳̳̜e̶͕d͏̺͖̗ ̱̗͎ͅt̟o͇̯̖̬̻ p̛̤̜a͇̟͔͚̬̰͔y̺̭̖.̵̬̣̘̘͈ ͏͈̫_  
 _̵̖̳̹͙_  
 _͜Ṟ̜͍͓͖̰e̜̝̞̻̯f̬̹͔̠̺ͅư̰̩̘̪͖s̨̻̜͈e̟̻̱̻d̲̬̫ ̛̜̙͙̦̳̼̠t͝o p̴͕a̵͔̣̺y̰̜͇͜ͅ.̱̥̝ͅ.̸̳̮̱͕̹̲͉.̼_  
 _̠̺̜̱̭̼ͅ_  
 _̛̤͕͚͎̣C͚̟̤al̡̬͔͎l͏̠̘̺̬͍ęd̜̹ ̫̗th̡̪e̬͕͚͙͍ ̲͇̫̟̤̰̱c͓͚o̮͠ͅp̻̺͎s̝͖͚̟̣͚̰.͇̮̞̣ͅ ̲̘̩͙̫̩͔T̼̖ͅh̸͙̮̤͈̭̞e͉y̘̟̙͇ ̧̺̤͚̟̯̺͖need ̥̪̙̦̖t̗͕͖͔̥̱͝o̲̯̰̗͈ ̺̰̻͙̟̦̱k̹̣now̪̩̹̞̞ ̢̠wh͕͖̻o̖̮͉̭ ҉t͚͚̲͜he͕̠͍͔̥̺y͓̪͖̩̥'̺̞͠v̼̥̹̯̱͠e̗̥̦ ̤͉̗̻͕̯̲m̮̦͍̫̣̤e̲̠̱͔͝ͅs̜͓̫̭̣͠sed̳͍̭͘ ̵̝w̷͈̘͓͓̞̮̺ḭ͇̙ṱ̭̠͓̘h̳͍̤͔̻.̣̥̗̘̪_  
 _̪̝̯̝̼̕ͅ_  
 _͟N͕͖̥͕͈̮̬O̯̤̞̻͎̦̗-̣-̬͚̯̯̹̦͜!̸!̣̮͙̦͍̠_  
 _̶̞̬̩_  
 _̵̙̳̣̞P̲̙L͔̮E̟̖͖͍̟A͙̳̭͘S̢̗͓̟̭͇͚̫Eͅ ̣͈̬͍̪Ḩ̫̱̮͙̻̺̯E̮̝ͅLP̤̭̯̲ͅ ̹̪̱͈̮̹̘͠M̙̞̰̹̖̕E̷̹!̵̞̹͔̱ͅ ͚͔̙̠͞ͅSO̷̮̗̙͎͇͉M̧EO̰Ṇ͍̳͍̠̞̤͠E-̥̠̭͢ͅ-̟̫̫̩̰!̮̟̮̕!͎̗͝_  
 _ **͔̮**_  
 _ **̝̰ͅN̞̖͔͈̻͍o̜ͅ.̜̣ ̛̗̙̻N̮̻͚̫̝͈͞o̤͈̠͖.͓ ̞̮͔͚̤N̴̙̻̟͔̯o̶̺̱ͅ.̦̥̠ ̫͇N͖̞̼o͉̭̩̲͇͍ͅ.̠̹ ̷̺͉N̨O!͖̥̫̘̺** ͕̲͟Ỵ̼͔̤̼͇ou̝̜̫̪ ̷c̘͙ą̬̺ͅn̞̞͍͚̬͝ͅno̹̕t͉̜ ͕̼̲̗̰͉͝d̩̼͓̥̪o̺̺̜̥̤͜ ̮̖̹͇t̶̬͖͚̺h̷̹̲̮i̮̱͚̗͕͝ͅs҉̲͈̝!̳̭̯̺̻̦̭_  
 _̢_  
 _ **͇̩̹Ḭ͚t ̡̦̥̗ͅi̡͍s͓͔ ͈͕e̡̹̯̳͉i̦̝t͇͕͇̟̟h̛̲̜̹̺͙̣͍e̢̹̠̳̗r͢ ̙͕t̻̱̩͖̰̩̼h̨e̻͍͉͍ ҉͔̦b̵͙̥͓̬o̸͚̮̖̯͙y̞̲̲ ̙̞̞͎̼ͅͅo̤̗̺̖̯͝r̪̭̼̝̗͈͚ ͈̠y̖͎̯ǫ̤̲̰͇͍̩u̧**.͚̰̻̻_  
 _̮͍̳̠̱̖_  
 _T̵̤͔͖͇͓̙͔h͝e̡͙͇̥̱n̹̰ͅ ̦t̞ạ͞k̜̰̣̜̬̤e̯ ͕m̝̹̼e͏̻͚ ̵͚̱̣i̖͡n̮̳͈͍̼ș̯̼̖̠͖te͎̞̟̲̟̱̞a̤̼̼̜̠d̻͙̻̹̯!̢ ͉D͈̲̭̳ͅon̪̘͝'t̲͝ ͍̥ͅd̪̤͙̮̬̟͘o͈̗̝͔̙͜ ̠̦ͅț̜͔̯̙͙̰h͔̤̟̟͠ị̦͕͡s ̬̻̩͚͕͖ͅt̢̜̰̳̠̜̜o̷̫͙̙̪ ͡t̘͢he͏̦͖̲͇̲ p͓̩̫͙̯̬o͏̱̹̗ͅo̺͇̦̲̝͙̞͡r̩̠̮ ̲͓͙̞̝͎̰͟c͉̜ẖ̞̮ḭ̯̞̻̯̜ḏ̵̳!̳̝͕̖ ͎͇͔̖̣͟_  
 _̙͔͈̩̘̺̹_  
 _͓̤͕̰͚͈W̻̪̘͞h̜͖̞̣y̪͙̼͓,̤̼̘ ̧̼͖̱̫̘͓d̴̦̘͉̫͕͇͓o͈̫͔̰c̟͝t̴͍̥͍̟̖̱o̹̠͓̯̭̗͕r̹̯͉̖͔̠͢.̝ I̻̘s͏͎̪ ͇̲̮t͝h͍͍̣a̜̝̰̻͍̟̞͘t̹̯̰̥ ̘͓̳̘̪a͇͇̠͙̫ ͇̗̞͙̝̝c҉͚̺̖o̷ņ̙̠s̻̼͎̗̲̬c̠̦͡i̪̻̞̼e̯͇̟̫̬n̲͙̪c̸̫̮̮̼e̻͇͉̬͕̲ͅ?̜̪̖̗͠_  
 _̠͕̗͈̟̻_  
 _̠S̙͚̲̱̭͕t͏͖̖̯o̜̫̳͔͝p̗͖̯̤̟̮͖!҉̺ ͔͈͚͙G͙̻̣̰̙̦̞E͎̳ͅT̟̼̗͔ ̨̞̦̞̠͖̜̻I̞͕̲̙͇͚T̨̖͇ O̠F̻͕͢F̻̲̫̫͘ ̙͈͓̕M͖̝͡E̷!͙̦̭̖̥̠̰͝ ͉͎̞ͅ **I̭͈͍͎T'͖̞Ṣ̺̩̦̫̣ ͔Ȩ̗̳̦A̘̱̲̞̩ͅT̞I̝̙͈͖̗N̛̲̬͉G̶̞͓ ̢̰͎̤̻̗̞ͅM̢Y̝̫ ͏̣̠̜͔F̱͇̱͈̮̰͡A̹̗ͅA̠̦̣̻̜̫̦A͕̘̳AA̜̘̗̤̗C̗̠̙E̱̙-̱̭̠̲͖͉!̻͖̮̟̕ͅ!̴͙̱͔͇̮̥̦ ͔̜̫͎H̥͈̻̬̖E̯̹͓̞͖̗͕L̫̹̼̭ͅP̢̪̲̱̩ͅ!͈!̧̭!̦̩̲̣̝̰͍!̡͔͈̥̺ ̝̥ ͙͖͈M̮͜OM̵̩̱̙͉M̵̞Y̗͓̫̗̕ͅ-̬̟̙̜̥̗͡-̳̹!͏̘̝͖͚̫̮̜**_

 _Congratulations Doctor. He looks good as new._

 _We still haven't forgotten what your parents did, little one..._

 _Schlange. Release him._  
 _͙͎̣_  
 _W̨̯e love you spatz_

 _̴̼̗D̰̥͕ea̦̦̞̺͉̥͞ͅr͔̫̺̝̠̹e̙͙͓͓̣̩͕s̛̜̱̟͙t̺̰̻̮̭͓ ̧A̰̮̗͉n̫̻̺g͈̭e͉̻̼l͇̮̫̫͙̭͖a̱͇͇͇.̣͖̕_  
 _̳̖̞̖̻̹̜͞_  
 _ **͉No̩̜.̡̤̪̹̱ ̧̺̖ͅN͙̭͇̰͟o̩͜.͍̭͟ ̫̗̫͍͓̞̫Ṇ̼̝̹͇̘o.̖̤̱̹̠͙̲ ̻̞̱ͅN̮̬ͅo̬̘̥͓̲-͉̞͞-̨̘!̩̗͘!̳!̣̠̫!̩̮͕̟͚̰͘ ̰͇͚H̹̦̕O̵͚̖͙̪W̷ ̰̱C͖͙̟̟̙̕A̝͎͘N ͞Y̲̱͔͈̼̲̙O̦͈͎͍̜U̶̝ ̶͓̭̝ͅL͇͓͞OO̘K̻͎͎̫͞ͅ ҉̦̜͉͇̟A̟͓͚̻̪̼̭T̼̜̲͓ ͎̻̪͙M͘E̻͕̺ ̲̣̳̗̪LͅI̮̲͉̳K̹̟͉̲̹E̞͔ ̞̤̞͈T̬̬H̢̺͔A̙̝͎̯͚̠͠T̹̯̙̖̟̦̺!͉̝͙ͅ** ̺TH̙̣̰̩̘̭A̲͉̻T͚ͅ ̡̘̘̗̱B̖̪̰̦̖O̟̫͕̳̝͈Y̙̬͇ ̘̼͔D͢I̝͖E̪͎̻̼̩͎̞͟D̛͚̱̰ͅ U̢͈̲̘̰̭͓N͚̗̤̺͘D̼͚̥E̶̜R̹̗̰̟͝ ̬̝̫̗̻ **M͚͖̙̳̺͙̻Y͚ ̥̙̯̪̼W̧̳̖̤̠͉ͅA͖T̗̖͉̙̳͎̩͝C̣͙̪̱̤H̴-̧-͙̠̱̦̻ͅ!̦͙͈̹̲!͓̠͕̟͙̗͉**_  
 _̟͓͓͎̮̫͢_

 _There is a way..._

 _To end it all._

 _N̰͎̟͉͚͢o͏̞̜͔̙̻̹ ̗̞̫̹͚̕ͅm̡̠̪̤͈̹̫orę͎̼̖_

 _ **NO MORE-!**_

* * *

'Brings back memories.'

Mercy looked behind her.

She saw her former self, now dressed as she used to be when Mercy was but a tool of destruction for the Shimadas.

A cold, empty smile was all there was on Angela, seeing old blood stained grey clothes, leaving a hollow sensation in the depts of her stomach.

 _'_ _Doesn't it_ _?_ _'_

* * *

Cutthroat Bill's inhuman yell, as he charged towards her, was what brought Angela back from her trance.

 _ **"METZGEEEEEER-!"**_

Perhaps...

This was the boy's revenge from the after life.

Mercy closed her eyes, inhaling deeply, as she accepted her fate.

Not when a red eyed demon deftly deflected the assault, evaded Bill's knife, and started bludgeoning him with Mercy's baton until he stopped moving. In her weakened, feverish state, Angela couldn't tell that the shadowed figure was on her side.

She looked around for anything familiar. Anything.

Her purse.

Angela ran for dear life, as she brought out her trusted .475 Wildey Magnum out of it, pointing towards the approaching silhouette.

̶̳͇͕͍͓͈̦̞̹̥̭̩̞͈͚͢͜ ̴̢̻̦͙͚̟̖̤̤̼̝̱̝̠͚͚̟͚͡͞͠ ̶̵̡̧͈̪̜̪ ̧҉̶̷̲̞͈͓̞̜̫̥͖̹͡ ͕̺̮̰͔̗̝͕͍̟̫̘̗̟͈̺̭͡ ̶͈̟͕̠͟͝ͅ ̛̭̪̩̞̥͎̬̩̣̗͘͞ ̴͘͠͡͏̤̻̹͉͖͕̯̞͍̬͈̲͚͉ͅg̨̛̫̪̻̩̟͓͈͠͠ę̷̛҉͉̫͔̬͔̥͈̟l͝͏̲͎̮̲̣̣̱̮̪̫̖̯̩̳̹͎͇͘̕a̵̷̖̬̤̝̹͎̰̣̟̱̙͇͕̳͚͘͟ ̷̛̰̠̝̲̳ ̶͏̢̭̱̤̹͚̖͓̬̝̰̪̙͎̭ ͏̶̺͍̭͚̹͚̘̲̯̝̟̼̦͟͢ ̷̸̡̥̺̣̭̜͎̩̠̘͕̖͟͝ ̷̻̼̥̯̯̫̗̣̠̳̬̭͚ͅ ̴̶̨͙͇̹͔̰̝̜ ̶̴͖̟̱̗̘̬͕͡ ̛̜̤̜̠̲̖̩̠͖̗̥̰̭͎ͅ

S

Stay away! **Stay away from me** -!

҉͓̙͇̳͍̬̙͚̹̼̝͓͡ͅ ̸̧̨̢͉̲̥͕͈͈̘͈̬̝͚͓͖͇̦̩̘̖̺̕ ̢̡̡̞͕̮̰͖̬̰͝ ̷̹̦̹̟̺͓͍͓͓͈̺͢ͅ ̵̶͚͕̲̗͎̕͜͜ͅ ̡̣̺̙̥̹̞̗̞̪̳̼̠̞͙͚̳̪̫͇̕ ̶̛̰̗̲̲̘͖͔̭̪̗̯̖̗̙̺͉̤͟ͅ ̸̵͓̞͓͚͖͓͎̪͍͇̤͍͙͈͔̦͇̭i̡̟̲͉̣̯͈̞̤͓̗͕̤̕͡ ̧̜͍͔̞̹̞̱͡t̷̨̛̘̪͓̮͍͖̳̺̲ ̷̨̕͏͈̺̫̟̞̠̪͖̘̮̖̮̮̘̪͜s͏̴̵̢̲̙̦̖̳̬͖͠ ̵̳̲̟̗̬̳͖̦̝̟͉͕̟̞̲̥̕͟͟͡m͜҉̞̟̻̣̹̟͈̤̮̼͖̙̜̻̺̹ ̴̦͉͉͈̫͚̭̦͕͉̬̯̙̰̣͎̰̟͠͠ͅe̵͔̼̣̯͎̝̲͚̰̗̰͘͠ͅ ̢̪̝̫̠̥͕̬̕̕ͅ ̴͟҉̟̦̺̪̯̩̰̱̦̠͔̖͎̤̭͖̟ ҉҉̖̪̼̺͍͉̬͈̪̯̻̯̗̬̝ ͟͢͏̧̥̗̼̠͓̹͉̜͈͙̱̩ͅ

"I said **stay away-** - **!** "

One bullet let loose.

It kept moving, the bullet flying through, missing the target.

̢̮̰̹̰̺̻̻̯ ̷̩̙͍͚̻̲̣͜͞ͅ ̸̰̪̱ ͚̻i̺͎̥̺̭̙̺t̠̜̝͕̣͔̲̕͘'̷̢̣s͍̪̻ ̵̜̹̟̣͎̲͟͡o̶̪͔̝̙͉̮̥k̵̨̬̻̘̮̳͓̖̘̜͢a̶̧̺͍̻͈̗̳̥̥̪y̖̹͈̼̝͔̮̳͟ ̵̬̞͞h̢͕͎̟̪̫̞͞e̷̵̻̩̞̹͍'̢̬̹͟s̗͉̗̪͍͔͢ͅ ̵̹g̸̰͎͢͡o̴̳̩n̻̤e̷̤̺

She must've missed. She could barely see what was in front of her.

Fog. Chaos. Blood everywhere.

The shadow engulfed her completely.

 **"STAY AWAY-!"**

Angela saw two warm, concerned scarlet eyes connect with her own.

A hand formed within the ink of darkness.

Black and white.

Their arms meet.

* * *

 **"ANGELA-!"**

* * *

"Angela-!" A bone crushing embrace was all what the trembling crime boss could feel.

"He's gone! He's gone now! Please, everything will be alright, he's gone..."

Mercy can see clearly now. She looked down. Her parents' blood vanished.

Fareeha was... crying? She wasn't worth any-

 **She had let a shot lose-!**

A smoking bullet hole on the other side of the wall caught Mercy's attention.

The fresh blood on Fareeha's jacket was not hers.

 _Oh god._

 ** _Oh god she almost shot Fareeha._**

The gun slipped through Angela's fingers, uncaring how loud the landing noise was.

Cutthroat Bill stayed down.

Schlange was dead.

"Fareeha-!"

She held onto her bodyguard's blood stained face, trembling fingers afraid of what just transpired before. "I... I-I _don't know what got to me_..."

For a moment, there was peace between them.

It was then she saw (and felt) Pharah slide downwards towards the floor.

 _Don't make any sudden movements_

 _Your body just went through a big shock_

 _You have lost a lot of blood too_

 **"Fareeha-!"**

* * *

A small smile emerged from the Egyptian's lips. Boss called her by name again.

Must've heard wrong.

* * *

Warm colours took over Pharah.

Yellow, red and brown.

All she could see was the ceiling. The air smelled sickeningly clean, feeling a light, cool breeze around. Tiles...?

They were back into the opera's restroom. Cool, soft towels were under Fareeha's face and neck.

"Good. You're awake."

Pharah observed her surroundings better. Bandages were covering her right shoulder and chest. Her wounds felt closed, well taken care of.

No blood on her either. It was like she never fought.

Mercy was cleaning her hands, blood pouring within the sink. "I have just concluded the extraction of the bullet that was in your shoulder. Your wound is sewn with butterfly stitches. It will heal within three weeks if cared properly."

A voice was heard from the other side of the door. Mercy kept cleaning up the equipment unflinching, uncaring about the noises from outside. Despite the unassuming person's attempts, it was locked tight.

 _"Ack! Out of order? What kind of service is this..."_

Boss waited for the person to leave until she spoke.

"One of these toilets were out of order. I merely changed the location of the pamphlet."

Thank You

The Management

Pharah suppressed a laugh from the mental image. Mercy is usually so prim and proper...

She noted all her possessions were neatly folded into one place, one outfit on the other. Parts of her disguise and belongings lying undisturbed there were somehow all cleaned up. The watch was on top of the pile. To help the blood circulation flow better, probably.

Fareeha lost a lot of blood. You don't need to be a doctor to know these things. The crime boss in question came near Pharah, with a batch of fresh bandages in hand. Her hair was loose now, distracting Fareeha a little. A curious, penetrating smell emitted from Fareeha's shoulder.

It smelled like... ether?

"You will be excused from your services for at least three weeks to recover."

The shock in Fareeha's eyes did not go unnoticed by Mercy. "At ease. You act like I fired you. I want no excuses. You need to rest. Despite the rumours, I am not inhuman," a hand went for Fareeha's back. "You have to rise a little bit. But I will need your help."

Using Mercy's hand as a pivot, Pharah managed to get into a seating position. "Now what?"

"Leave the rest to me Fareeha, I know what I'm doing."

Mercy did not notice Pharah's breath hitch a little, as she made an extra sheet of bandages around the tanned shoulder.

If there was a time when Fareeha started looking at Angela as more than merely her (admittingly) good looking boss...

"E-aw!" Mercy's hands were practically stone cold due to methodical sterilisation.

"What are you smiling about?"

"..."

That was it.

"Nothing."

* * *

After helping the heavy bodyguard get onto her feet, Angela waited until Fareeha changed back into her cleaner tuxedo outfit in one of the stalls. "You ready? Let's go then." Mercy lead themselves slowly towards the Mercedes, all possessions safely on them.

Pharah was annoyed by her weakened body. Talking another step forward, she almost faltered, not seeing a broken part of the pavement partially due to exhaustion. Catching her on time, the crime boss gave the bodyguard much needed support.

The fall wounded Pharah's pride a little.

"Gently. Walk with me."

She stared towards Mercy, scarlet red meeting baby blue. Not a trace of malice was in her voice or posture.

 _\- "Stay away! **Stay away from me** -!" -_

Gone was the scared woman Fareeha saw tremble during Bill's assault. She had looked like she was on the verge of crumbling down against an unstoppable force. Nothing. No emotion was betrayed through her sharp, almost angelic appearance. Her gaze was now fiercely tender, taking Pharah completely by surprise.

Perhaps... under all that perfect ice there could be...

Looking elsewhere, Pharah focused on their destination, limping through gritted teeth.

"I probably disappointed you."

She could try again.

"How so?"

Undeniable curiosity was Mercy's response.

"I forgot to wear that fucking tie. Now..." she gestured towards her empty collar. "I'm a mess. To think I wore that hanky too.." _To make you fucking happy... b_ _ut I didn't fucking manage..._

Seeing two guards approach them, Mercy mumbled the next words, hastingly buttoning up the two remaining holes left carelessly open. "You just hang on. I'll go ahead."

It took a few minutes for Pharah to realise.

 _ **Did she just make a pu-**_

"Do you need any assistance, madam...?"

"It's alright. My bodyguard just had a stroke. I keep telling her to lay off the sweets..."

Fareeha's furrowed glare made the story more believable. "Alright madam. As you say."

The two guards kept staring towards the odd couple.

"Man. A stroke at such a young age. She looks pretty healthy too..."

"You're impressed by **that**? Have you seen the size of that behemoth? Blondie can bench press a planet, I can tell ya. Plus, the tanned one doesn't look light."

"Well, if you put it that way..."

* * *

Mercy insisted Fareeha laid down at the back of the car, despite her protests.

"But... but I..."

"You are **NOT** driving Pharah. Not in those conditions," she placed a small towel from the restroom on the guard's forehead. "Rest. We'll be home soon."

Angela entered the driving seat, expecting a retort to that comment.

"I should be the one driving."

Mercy's heart definitely skipped a beat. Pharah did not deny their base was her home.

"Rest."

None of this was betrayed by her voice or facial expression.

Loosening the grip on the steering wheel, Mercy started driving back to base.

* * *

Rain started pouring down, a light hail tinkled on the windshield. Both wipers reached a soft rhythm, helping to keep the road clearly in sight. After looking at the rear window, Mercy's reflection did not match the driver. Thankfully, whatever projection her mind was creating had reverted back to the Nobel ceremony clothes.

Before the attack happened.

 _'That poor boy was finally avenged.'_

And her parents. And all the rest who were killed by that unpunished bastard.

The traffic lights and passing by flash lights went through the person to Mercy's right.

 _'But we almost lost Fareeha tonight.'_

Mercy stayed silent, letting the projection talk for herself.

 _'Was it really worth it? All of this?'_

Green light. A crazy drunk. Mercy waited until he left the front of her car.

 _'Will you take her to the apartment?'_

"Yes." Concerned, Mercy's sight flickered towards the sleeping figure behind. Even breaths. That's good.

 _'You **know** why I'm here.'_

Mercy didn't have to answer. The master key was already in her purse.

 _'Beneath the stairs. In the kitchen. And in the front hallway.'_

The crime boss pressed onward, paying good care towards the incoming traffic.

 _'I wonder. If a certain someone knew you spy on her without consent... what would she think of you then?'_

Mercy did not brake because that would awaken Fareeha. But the tone of her voice could've torn walls down, despite the low volume.

"You know why I did it. All three of them. Ana has **many** enemies. What if they attack her in the dead of night? And they _only record sounds_."

And she wasn't a fucking creep. She made the app sleep when it skipped certain late hours. It was programmed to work automatically if machine gun noises were detected during those hours. At least, if Ana's enemies tried hurting her through Pharah...

 _'No, you are not. But it is still **wrong**.'_

Letting out frustrations diffuse through a sigh, Mercy started reversing to park. "What am I supposed to do..."

She noted Fareeha trembled a little, raising the open windows.

 _'The right thing.'_

Raising the hand brake, Mercy opened the empty glove compartment, and reached out for the purse.

A white, distinctive handkerchief was folded neatly beside it. She kept it...?

 _'If not for her... still. Do it. Do the right thing. For us.'_

Mercy stared at her younger self.

 _'Please.'_

* * *

Carrying a six foot tall, well built Egyptian was no mean feat, especially through a hail storm. But Angela wasn't the second most powerful mobster in the city for no reason. Not needing to reach out for her purse, the red master keycard in it was enough to make the door lock flash green. Door knobs aren't made for these types of apartments.

When the door was opened with one leg, a familiar sight showed up.

"Hello Anubis."

The Doberman gave one, quick yelp, happy to see the master and friend.

Until it realised its master was not 100% okay. Its whine endeared even the cockles of Mercy's heart. "It will be alright," Mercy couldn't believe she was talking to the dog, but she had worse to converse with. "Faree... Pharah will get better. You'll give her plenty of company soon."

Placing her bodyguard on the nearest couch (spotless clean) Angela removed her blood stained (if you knew where to look) shoes, gloves and tuxedo jacket. After making the pillows as comfortable as possible, she helped a slumbering Pharah law down on them, back in a 45 degrees angle.

A nice, warm shower would be the best solution for her.

But Mercy did not have the heart to awaken her. Fareeha looked so peaceful...

Angela placed the clean, ivory handkerchief softy next to the sleeping figure's pillows.

A glint caught Mercy's eye.

An emerald dagger was on display at the far end of the coffee table. Careful about not making too much noise, Mercy gently removed the artefact from there, returning it to the self made cabinet, which was obviously made to encase it.

 _How did Fareeha get in possession of this...?_ As far as Angela recalled, Pharah had lost the auction... by a mere 1,000 grand.

Mercy bit her thumb in a pensive manner. Maybe the rumours were true?

Tough, cheapskate Rodger Dodger owed the Amari a favour...?

* * *

 _Somewhile ago..._

 _"Ahahahaha! This was such a steal! And at such an important auction too-!" A white, fat, rich elderly man walked around the streets in a drunken fashion, flaunted the dagger hanging by his belt wherever he turned. "I don't know what possessed Doctor Ziegler to sell it, but that's how I roll! Rodger, the deal maker! I only strike at the very end-!" He entered a big, giant brick wall made out of brown, gold and blue._

 _"Hey! Watch where you're going- oh oh! Mi- **Miss Amari! I-I-I I'm so sorry** for walking into you-! My mistake-!"_

 _"It's alright. I wasn't looking where I was going."_

 _"B-b-but **of course**! Whatever you say! Eh... heehhh... hhhh..."_

 _"It's okay. Relax! Deep breaths. I meant what I said."_

 _"Alright then. Jolly... jolly good then. Have a lovely night, Miss Amari."_

 _"You too, Mr Dodger."_

 _Rodger's belt felt terribly light._

 _ **But he wasn't crazy enough to point that out.**_

* * *

Pharah started moving her sleep, face scrunched in a mix of pain and fear.

"I... I'm... so- sorry..."

Dagger forgotten, Mercy went straight next to Fareeha. "Shhh. It's... it's alright, Fareeha. It's all over now."

She was asleep. Mercy could call Pharah by name. But Angela did not expect what she would say next.

"I... failed..."

 _ **He's gone!** He's gone now! **Please** , everything will be alright..._

With those two words, Mercy allowed herself to be Angela Ziegler again.

Slowly, she lay herself on the couch, where there was little space between her and Fareeha. She checked all possibilities.

Pharah's breath was even. Never one pause.

Her eyelids didn't move, not even to peek. No rapid movements either.

Angela gently took her pulse. It was between the 40s and 50s.

 _Fareeha..._

One hand trembled a little, as it brushed strands of hair away from Fareeha's face.

She was still asleep. Her gaze fell on her bodyguard's lips. Never has she seen Fareeha before with her guard so low.

 _You will refer to me as Dr. Ziegler or as 'boss'. Understood?_

To hear those soft lips say her name again. Even only once...

She sighed. To hell with that. Affection was never her thing. Not even... she placed her hands on the corners of her mouth.

Angela should hate Pharah. For everything she represents.

Mercy did once. But never Fareeha herself.

"...you..."

Angela remembers how Fareeha was mere hours prior, motionless in her own pool of blood.

How she saw her bodyguard out of the corner of her eye, hoping she had seen wrong.

How Fareeha Amari was in her office, the first time they had officially met. How she inspired confidence and unity amongst Mercy's soldiers, head high and proud, like she belonged with them. How happy she was whenever Anubis came to greet her after a rough day.

Or just her rare smile alone.

"...A..."

Mercy gave in.

Tucking a stray strand of hair behind one ear, she started slowly descending towards the sleeping guard.

"You didn't fail me... you will **never** fail me..."

She could almost imagine it. Fareeha's smile, turning from soft to beckoning.

Deep, crimson eyes, looking only at her behind beautiful, long lashes.

Their noses barely touching, Angela can feel Fareeha's light breaths on her lips. Her eyelids started to drift lower...

"N... n... A... n..."

The name alone made Mercy stiffen, agony flowing in her veins. Angela returned to her seat, staring pensively towards the coffee table. Her eyes lingered on Pharah's bandages, where the bullet was extracted. She knew what Ana had thought of her. And the rest. To them, Mercy will always be different than the others.

Dr Angela Ziegler.

 _The youngest Nobel Prize winner._

 _Der Lachelnde Metzger._

 _The Angel of Death._

Will always be an outsider to the mafia world. And to people like Ana, she will be **never** be good enough.

Angela replayed their pact in her mind, clear as crystal till the last word. She did not agree to Ana's terms until Pharah was brought into question. If Fareeha knew she was the one to suggest the trade off... her gaze returned to the couch. What would she think of her?

As an empty earring was touched to calm her thoughts, Mercy looked at her mobile.

The three black boxes were still working. If she unmuted the app, she'd hear what was going on outside.

And inside.

One word from Fareeha would make her stay in the apartment for the night.

"A... An..."

But she had agreed with herself to do one thing first.

 _Do the right thing._

 _For us._

 _Please._

The hidden recorders' light all turned red in their locations.

Mercy took off her black formal coat, placing it softly on the sleeping figure.

Fareeha moved a little. But stayed deep into slumber.

"A... A..."

Even in death, Ana had control over her daughter Angela could only dream of possessing. The crime boss noticed, whenever she tested Fareeha's loyalty between her and her mother. She would lose her energy, her mood going from cheerful to stoic, always turning into an obedient child that would defend her mother's honour, perhaps at the cost of her life. Her head would lower, as if she had lost the battle before even trying.

And that was something she never wanted between them, no matter how tempting.

One hand tightly clasped over her heart.

The tanned woman stirred in her sleep. Angela placed the same hand over the knuckles, helping it loosen.

Such thoughts pained her.

The hold got tighter. Fareeha's pulse was light and even, her breaths giving out a peaceful hum.

Unrequited love is painful.

What was the **point** of having a heart, if you cannot use it?

But she was being selfish. Fareeha had her own demons too.

A small whine broke Mercy's thoughts, as the Doberman came to comfort the distressed crime boss, licking the loose hand in the air. Angela stroked one ear behind Pharah's personal bodyguard. "Take care of your master." A sharp yelp was all what came from Anubis, the dog now on high alert.

She was in good hands.

Quietly aiming for the entrance, Angela switched the low light off, slowly closing the door behind her. Only the outside and the door's lining had lighting coming out of them. Pharah's even breaths and soft, pitter pattering of rain and ice against tightly shut windows were the noises left behind.

"Goodnight... Fareeha."

As Angela leaves the room, the door shut out the light.

* * *

"An... gela..."

* * *

Except for a silver outline that remained.

Mercy didn't let go of the unlocked door for awhile, the well kept mask cracking completely.

 **-click-**

She closed the door properly, sharp heels echoing in the empty hallway. Fareeha's boss headed back towards the Mercedes, not caring in the slightest to take cover from the heavy hail storm descend around the parking zone.

Pulling the car's door sharply, the outside world was muted.

A shaking head dropped firmly on the steering wheel, the only noise that could be heard from within the car was a heart wrenching wail, as a single tear slides down. Followed by countless more, descending upon Angela's pale cheeks like a broken dam.

After all what she's done...

Impossible.

She must've heard wrong.

 **Author's Notes:**

 **This chapter is set a few months before Ana returns and before Angela and Fareeha become lovers. I hope that clears some confusion.** **Gangster AU belongs to SuperRisu, LogosMinusPity and Orenjikitty. Overwatch belongs to Blizzard and Satya QUEEN Vaswani.** **(If anyone cares, I'll continue this series. I just feel nobody does, to be very honest with you all.)**


	5. Bonus Chapter III

**Chapter 5: Bonus Chapter III**

* * *

 **Author's Notes**

 **This little side story is based on Angela's dream after... something happens in the main story. It was supposed to be alot darker too. Not sure if I'll keep it as a separate story or not. And this... eh, screw it. This was supposed to be her dying dream. (On that note, Angela will _not_ die in future chapters. This was supposed to be done for a sad ending version but... cut what you love, I guess.) Yeah... September 2017 me. WTF. Anyhow. Fixed some details. Enjoy the (weird?) mashup. Some feedback would be very noice.**

* * *

 _Fareeha…_

* * *

 _Where there was once order, there was chaos._

 _In the ceremonial hallway, gun shots and screams were everywhere. A young woman tried moving two people, urging them to get up. She had managed to escape one of the Yazuka main leaders. If she ran away, she'd be safe... but not without her parents._

 _" **Mama! Papa**!"_

 _"Run... Angela..."_

 _As she clung onto them, wanting to run away with them, the doctor's beloved parents could barely speak. "Save... yourself... **RUN**!"_

 _The young doctor raised her hands towards herself, not wanting to see her cherished family expire before her. She had seen enough death._

 _But if they escaped, and had help-! "No... **NO! I WON'T LEAVE WITHOUT-!"**_

 _Wait._

 _Angela looked around._

Wait.

 _She saw that wretched snake dash towards her, cutting through security like many times before._

 ** _NOT THIS TIME-!_**

Grabbing one of the many dead policemen's guns, Angela aimed and fired an unused Colt.45 towards a surprised assailant into his skull.

The bastard was down before even reaching the ground.

"HOW'S THAT? HOW'S **THAT** FOR PUNISHMENT? **YOU GODAMNED FREAK-!"**

Quickly, Angela returned to her dying parents.

Quickly.

 _Quickly!_

Before **he** shows up-!

"Please! Hang on! I'll get you out of here-!"

Angela managed to get her father and mother on their feet towards safety.

But **HE** was almost there too.

They ran towards the emergency stairway. There was a helicopter with other prize nominees. The Shimada forces were right after their trail. Their leaders rapidly gave lethal orders through their native tongue.

'Get the woman!' 'Kill the rest-!'

One of Angela's parents stayed behind. In front of the roof's entrance.

 _"Go."_

Angela and her father were forcefully pulled aside by the little remaining police.

"Mama! Please! Come with us-!"

"Spatz-! **No!** You can't-!"

Her mother held a heavy smile. "You can't save us both. Go. **RUN!** **TAKE HER FAR AS POSSBILE-!"** The blue-eyed monster was right behind her. "I love you both. So very much…!" When she turned to face her killer, there was no hesitation. No tears. No fear.

Only peace.

"You'll **never** reach her on time! I WON'T LET YOU-!"

One sword wipe cut down upon her, spilling more than a little blood.

And her beloved mother was gone.

" **NOO-!"**

 **"Theresa-!"**

Angela and her father were shoved into the taking off helicopter. Bullets were shot all over it, but it still kept flying deep into the skies. The Shimada leader could do nothing but slowly clean the blade from the fresh blood smeared all over it, burning what remained through stray fire flickering around the debris to mock the one that got away.

Grief. Sorrow. Relief.

Happy to be alive.

Happy to be **free**.

 _She made it. **They** made it this time._

They can finally **live again**.

* * *

 _Where… where is she…?_

* * *

 _A few years later, in Hungary_

"He's here again. The mystery person is back outside."

An auburn-haired woman looked up curiously from the far corner. "Who?"

"Don't play innocent with us, Helena. He always shows up when **you're** around."

Irritated, Helena switched her cigarette off, having been disturbed from her too short smoke break. The woman, known as Helena Ornstein to her colleagues, went towards the law firm's balcony.

There **she** was indeed. Hat pointing down. Leaning against a wall, smoking a cigar.

You can miss her if you're not careful. But the unmistakable puff of smoke gave away her location. From above, with those broad shoulders and large frame, she could easily be mistaken for a man. But Helena's former profession helped her see through any disguise.

Not that she was _trying_ to hide, judging by that cle-

"Why don't you go talk to him?"

"Shut it Raul. Take care of your own fucked up love life first, then talk."

Ignoring the blubbering idiot, Helena observed the (obvious) admirer once more.

Sleek black suit. Impeccable, probably tailor made. Flawless skin that made the person look somewhat innocent, though Helena knew she was anything but. Long lashed eyes made out of scarlet that were expressive under a stoic appearance, observing every move in the area.

Could be appealing to some. Helena can see that.

But she was no fool. She knew EXACTLY where the black suited woman was coming from. The tattoo on one side of her face let out the true nature. And the family heirloom dangling from her neck…

She was _dangerous_ from head to toe.

And yet… this wasn't the first time the mystery woman showed up waiting in front of the firm.

Always casually looking upwards towards the tall building's roof. Until their eyes met.

It was a ritual at this point.

The gangster would switch off the cigar on the ground, never breaking eye contact whilst doing so. Her - damn them - beautiful eyes always stared invitingly towards the lawyer. Perhaps to go downstairs. Beside her. When the mystery woman got bold, she would remove the jacket, lifting black sunglasses as she left it hanging on her back.

Sometimes a small smile would escape as she kept her gaze upwards. Other times, she even blew a few cigar circles in the opposite direction, hoping to impress.

 _She_ would leave, not wanting to have anything to do with anyone from that world. Not even her.

Until one of them took a chance.

* * *

"How **exactly** did you manage to win the case for Cutthroat Bill, Helena? Are you a witch?"

The short, auburn haired woman smiled, raising her well-kept glasses a little.

"He may be a criminal, but here? He was innocent. Justice is blind for a reason, Eric-"

"Miss Ornstein?" Helena turned around.

It was the receptionist. She lowered her phone and wrote down notes as quickly as possible. "There is a Brooke Haslett who wishes to create an appointment with you. Do you have the time?" To talk to a potential client? Isn't that what she was paid for? She quickly checked her agenda, skimming through her phone.

"Certainly Christine. I'll be in my office."

"Okie-dokie. I'll inform you when she shows up."

Everyone who was into gossip hushed up when a certain sharply dressed figure showed towards the reception desk.

"She's waiting for you on the third floor. Red door, can't miss it."

Nodding slightly, the woman fixed her loose shirt and cuffs, wearing black sunglasses indoors. "Thank you." Fixing her collar, the towering (and slightly intimidating) foreigner started whistling a happy tune, coolly going for the stairs instead of the elevator.

Not resisting to wait until the mystery person was out of ear range, noisemakers started sharing their newest theories.

"Okay. Three guesses. Either she has an interview. Or is a lawyer like us. **Or** is a lesbian."

Christine stared at Eric. "It could be a uniform too. She doesn't _have_ to be gay." Christine was a little disappointed the mystery person was a she.

Raul, the chief gossiper, joined in.

"That expensive, tailored suit? What is she, a walking Armani sponsor? **No** that person is probably a-"

* * *

The intercom buzzed that annoying piercing sound again.

'Helena. Ms Haslett is here to see you.'

Helena raised an eyebrow at how Christine's voice cracked, but didn't say a word.

"Let her in."

The buzzer rings, as the door opened and let in the very gangster Helena was trying to avoid.

Removing expensive Bulgari sunglasses, she looked around for a minute, fixing the suit's cuffs. To think of something to say-?

"Good _morning_ Miss Ornstein-"

The lawyer, known to her co-workers as the smiling assassin, did not let that voice distract her further. Though it did fill the room up effortlessly-

"Good morning Ms **Haslett**. Kindly get the hell out of my office."

* * *

The gangster wasn't intimidated in the least. Actually, she looked rather… curious?

"That is an… _interesting_ way to greet your clients Miss Ornstein. Do you do this with everyone?" She smiled under that fedora hat, removing it to reveal long, healthy tresses of ink black hair. "Or am I your special one…?"

She threw the hat perfectly on the coat hanger, comfortably making herself at home.

"Are you deaf? I won't repeat myself." Helena started smiling. Perhaps like that the gangster will get the message. Folding her arms, the lawyer did not move an inch from her desk or stance.

"Damn. Straight to the point. I **like** that."

The gangster closed the door behind and sat down comfortably on the chair instead.

"You know? You should keep smiling. A fake smile will become a real one eventually."

The gangster repositioned her posture in complete calm, staying stock still with complete control over her body movements.

She was smiling softly, catching Ange- **Helena** off guard.

Helena sighed in defeat. People like **her** are used to getting what they want.

Fine.

For now, she'll play her stupid game if it meant getting her out of the office. "You won't fool **me** with your charm Miss Haslett. I may not know you, but I know **exactly** where you come from. You are a _gangster,_ " spitting out the particular last word like it poisoned her mouth just by meer mention, she continued, "and I want to have NOTHING to do with people like you. Now. One **last** time." Helena leaned slightly towards the seated mafiosa, emphasising her statement sweetly as possible.

 **"Get. Out. Of. My. Office."**

As sweetly as a honey badger can be.

The tanned woman looked upwards, almost contemplating the not so subtle threat.

Bringing both arms together, she smiled.

"You find me _charming_ ," that damned smile grew till the edges of her face. "That's a start."

Enough. " **Leave**. Or I'll phone the police."

"That's the thing. I kinda can't."

Now Helena's smile became a shark's bidding, one hand hovering above the phone. "And why is that? Not that I particularly care."

"I've got a contract on you."

"That is nothing that can't be fixed with a quick cancellation call-"

"To kill you."

* * *

The silence between the lawyer and mobster was palatable.

"Come again?"

"You heard me. I'm here to kill you." She raised her fingertips. "'Kill'".

The mobster leaned back into the seating chair as if she never said anything alarming.

The shock going through Angela helped her rational mind go unfocused. She noticed the mobster's jacket was hanging unbuttoned on both sides, yet it fit the curves of her muscles rather tightly-

"Are you checking me out, darl~? That's a relief, actually."

 **That** snapped her out of any sort of disruption. But another distraction showed up right after.

A low, vibrating growl was emitted from the mobster, words practically **dripping** with approval through a sweet, **distracting** purr.

"I can _always_ invite you to the gun show if you want. You gotta wait until sunset though-"

Helena's hand instantly reached for the phone. Which was stopped immediately by the gangster.

"Let go. Or I WILL scream." B. Haslett tsked slowly at the European before her.

"You would've done that ages ago if you really wanted to."

"Don't assume anything about **me**. You know **nothing** about me."

"Oh?" Miss 'Brooke' pointed towards a set of flowers on the slightly open window with confidence through an unoccupied thumb. "Who do you think was sending all these flowers, Miss Helena?"

She gritted her teeth as a response. "Yup. _I_ am M. J. Doe. Surprised yet?"

More silence.

" _Please_ tell me you weren't hoping **RAUL** was the one sending them-"

To think those blue flowers and poetry were rather- " **You** were-? I should've known." **Scheisse**. Did she unintentionally make the gangster think she was accepting her advances-

For crying out loud Angela. This person just said **SHE WAS SENT TO KILL HER.**

Angela did not dare to mention any of the Yazuka member's name.

"Who sent you?" The mobster gestured towards Helena's hand through her stare.

"That is not important. What **is** important is what I'm going to tell you now. But… you gotta trust me. _I know_ , it's hard. But I'll explain everything if you let me."

"And how do I know you won't shoot me the second I sit down?"

"Easy." Calmly, Jane Doe dialed the number 47. "Because I'm **not** here to kill you. And I never was."

Helena's response was immediate, complete with a snarl. " _Bullshit_."

"I'm serious~ I'm here to offer you another type of contract."

Angela spat out a glare in defiance. "Which is?"

Helena kept staring at Brooke with wide eyes, almost daring to surprise her.

Which she did.

"Protection." Helena's hand kept hovering over the phone. "From the Yakuza."

That statement doused Angela like a bucket of ice cold water.

"You… you know who I am. Who I **REALLY** am."

That means…!

"Your father is okay. I made sure of that."

Ice cold relief flowed through Angela's veins. The tall foreigner nodded. "But **you** don't know **me**. Or who **I** am. Where are my manners. I can gladly fix that." She gently let go of Angela's hand. The blonde woman returned to her seat, needing to think clearly. When she was sure Angela won't lunge back for the phone, the mobster removed one glove, raising her hand out of courtesy.

"Fareeha. My name is Fareeha Amari."

The Arabic woman clearly wanted to shake Angela's hand dearly.

It stayed in mid-air for several minutes.

Taking a deep breath, Angela took the black hand and tentatively shook back.

The mafiosa let out a small smile.

"A pleasure to - **finally** \- make your acquaintance."

* * *

"Are you serious? THIS is where you took me."

"Yup."

"After blind folding me."

"Yup."

"To discuss our contract."

"Uh-huh."

Angela analysed her surroundings.

Children were running around, balloons, roller blades, skateboards were allowed in this particular area. Couples ( _urgh_ ) of all ages were walking side by side with each other, game attractions beckoning them to go inside and explore further. A coconut display was at the entrance, water flowing around the slices.

It actually made Angela feel kinda hungry. (Which made her angry towards herself.)

 **"At a LUNA PARK."**

The limo stopped. Fareeha addressed the chauffer. "You can stay. I'll be fine from here."

"Yes boss."

Boss?

 _Hm._

 _She is dressed so differently. Just like I hoped she would…_

Her tie was still slightly loose.

 _Baby steps._

The chauffer, whom Angela heard being addressed as Nissa before, fixed her hat and stayed indoors. The limo door next to her opened suddenly, revealing an amused Egyptian on the other side. "Well. You can't say I don't have style," she gestured towards the pavement. "Mademoiselle?"

Angela hesitated to leave the vehicle at first. She made the mistake of making eye contact.

Grabbing Fareeha's hand to exit the car, the lawyer wondered if it was too late to turn back.

"It's true what they say." She had that damned smile again. "Swiss Germans really do stare a lot."

Angela looked around immediately. "Oh right. Sorry. _Haqq 'al balha..._ I… should not have said that."

 _Sorry. I should've said that._

 _Not… not you._

Going near the candyfloss stand, Fareeha paid the vendor for one floss stick.

"Will **this** make you feel better?"

Angela kept staring at the pink piece of candy incredously. "No."

The gangster pouted a little. "You're no fun." Fareeha ate the piece in a gruff manner, obviously attempting to make the woman smile. She eustatically offered the candy floss again. Like a child. "Mmm~ you **don't** know what you're missing~ Are you **sure** you don't wanna try it?"

The short haired woman shook her head. "You're **weird** for a mobster."

Before small laughter came from Fareeha, anticipation emerged from her luminous eyes. "Weird. Keep 'em coming Miss Ornstein."

After paying for the entrance tickets, the two people entered the park proper.

Angela made sure to be at least one step behind Fareeha. To not give the wrong impression.

"I'm not here to be **fun**."

"I know."

"And I certainly am **NOT** here for your company."

"I know~"

"Let's just get this over with so then I can go back home."

"Whatever you say. Let's go for a ride first."

"About ti- _what_."

Discussing very quickly with one of the workers of the Ferris Wheel in Arabic, Fareeha let the lawyer set inside the Ferris Cab first. "I already talked to the park owner. He's an old friend of my mother. Everything is ready~ You can climb in first."

Angela did not enter right away. "An old _friend_. Is he a part of a protection racket by _any_ chance?"

"Oh no, him? **Never**. He's an old associate, I told you. He opened this park as a hobby."

Looking around one last time, Angela saw how people moved around the stands in joy.

There was no danger.

"Madame?" Fareeha leaned slightly into the cab's entrance, essentially towering over Angela. She noticed the mobster's eyes were dilated slightly, both eyebrows raised, making her smile more noticeable. Angela was not intimidated in the least.

"Let's get this over with."

* * *

Right after the door was closed, the wheel started to move, music and various chimes in motion.

"There. Now we can talk as freely as you want."

A little silence passed between them. Angela fixed her glasses a little.

"Oh, before we begin~ I must send a message quick."

Angela did not hide her irritation this time. Fareeha swiftly tapped on her smartphone.

 **Meeting cancelled Saleh. Inform the others. Say, you know how to seduce a lawyer?**

 **Duly not**

 **What boss?**

 **You dated one once. Any good advice?**

"Who are you."

Raising her head from the research material, Fareeha let out another disarming smile.

"Hmm?"

"You're no ordinary mobster. One of your henchmen called you boss. Who are you really?"

Perhaps that was a mistake. Fareeha started beaming like a lighthouse, looking directly into her eyes.

 **Verdammt**. Angela stared at the floor, trying to remain calm.

With how happy she looked, you'd think Angela just called Fareeha her knight in shining armour.

"You want to get to _know_ me? And here I thought you were going to be all Emmanuelle Mimeux on me. So. Tell me, Miss Ziegler. Is there a chance for you to open up a little more…?"

A little buzz from the side pocket distraced the Amari boss for a second.

 **They're ego maniacs. It gets tiring after awhile. But isn't a certain Miss Ziegler undercover?**

 **You know her name?**

 **You told us boss. Yesterday. At the game of poker. Only us elites**

 **Oh! Right, right**

Tapping away quickly as lightening, the mafia boss knew to not keep Angela waiting if she wanted to be in her good graces.

 **Find as much info as you can find on doctors. And lawyers. What they like, what not**

 **Affirmative boss**

Removing the smartphone, Fareeha brought out a folded piece of paper from her single welt jacket's pocket.

"Here's the contract. I need your signature to make it valid. But~"

"Give it here."

Without wasting a second, Angela took the valuable parchment, placing it on the empty area of her seat. She missed the edges of Fareeha's smile revealing a toothy grin. Scanning all of the document in record time, the lawyer brought out a pen from her purse-

"Ah, ah. **This** pen," Fareeha had an expensive Mount Blanc pen in hand. "Use this one."

"Does it make a difference?"

She practically sang the next words. "It does to me~"

Sighing, Angela rubbed her temple a little bit, as she took the pen the mobster offered.

"I accept all clauses. I'll sign."

Angela caught Fareeha looking at her white pen very eagerly, grinning from ear to ear. "On one condition."

"Yes?"

"I can back away from this however AND whenever I want."

Her shoulders dropped a little at the bold statement.

 _Oh_. She did NOT expect that reaction.

Angela placed a hand over her mouth to hide her amusement, pretending to ponder a bit more-

Where the FUCK did that come from, Angela.

Next to her, a woman in her late 30s looked away, folding her legs in frustration. She knew how it was like to be fooled by that smile.

The response came like lightning. "Deal."

Angela signed her name on the document, looking up when she made the final stroke.

"You cannot back out on your word. Your honour is at stake."

 **IF** Fareeha was a capo as she suspected… that word should have actual meaning to her.

Angela hoped she knew what she was doing.

"Trust me, Miss Ziegler." Her voice sounded cheerful. Then it dropped a few notes. "You've put your security in the **right** **hands**."

Angela's head blanked out only for a second.

And two.

And three.

* * *

Exiting the wheel, Fareeha extended her hand to the lawyer, offering the pen.

"You can keep it if you wish. As a token of our agreement."

 _You kept it when I gave you mine. Probably against your mother's wishes._

 _It was a small gesture. But… it made me happy._

 _What a fool I was._

"Now wait just one minute," Angela jabbed one finger straight into Fareeha's chest, uncaring if she was dealing with one of the most powerful mobsters in the city. If she was annoyed at the gesture, Fareeha didn't show it. Instead she looked… pleasantly surprised…?

She expected anger at least. Or irritation. **Not** amusement. "I will only say this once. I am **not** doing this because I want to."

That stare angered HER instead. "Stop _looking_ at me with those puppy eyes. I know **exactly** who you REALLY are. There is NO difference between the Shimada and **you**. You and your kind are ALL the same. You're not fooling _me_. You may be used to getting what you want through your family name alone, but I am going to say this in a way you'll **definitely** understand: once I lose track of the Shimada, you're out of my life forever. This is only a temporary agreement. DON'T. GET. ANY. IDEAS."

She tilted her head in a way that (unintentionally) made the mobster lean downwards.

"You **heathen**."

A sharp stare was shared between the two women.

Until one of them flicked another pen with a click, getting a tiny booklet out of her front pocket. She mumbled a few words until the unmistakable 'puppy eyes' ushered out from her lips.

"You **didn't**."

"Yep." Snapping the little booklet closed, she placed it back in the front pocket, clearly amused. "Charming, weird, ordinary, heathen and my current number one… _puppy eyes_." The sharp noise from its quick closure distracted Angela from Fareeha's growing smile. "It's gonna be tough to overtake that one- wait. You're leaving?"

"There's no need to stay here anymore."

"But I thought-"

"The contract is signed, isn't it? The 'meeting' is over. **I** can go now."

"I can take you back home if you w-"

 **"No."**

Passing by her, Angela did not notice the long, lingering stare the mobster gave on the side. "Whatever fantasy you're living, get out of it. **I** live in the real world. Remember what I told you before."

She stopped near a game stand, duckies and bottles were available to be shot at.

She hasn't played one of these games in years…

"Let me win a prize for you at least? To… finalise our contract?"

The mafia boss somehow took Angela's terrifying scowl for a yes.

* * *

Angela returned to her apartment. It was modest, comfortable to live in. For her pay, she could've had a lot more. But it was better to not get too attached to a place for long. Her savings are more important in case she needs to skip town.

She needed a hot shower. Get **rid** of this thing. And to rest. Resting sounds goo-

 **-ring ring-**

Tossing a huge baby shark plushie on her sofa, Angela answered the phone. A low, deep purr emerged from the other side, making a pleasant humming noise.

' _Greetings_ Helena. How _are_ you. Remember me?'

Angela stayed firm in a clipped, icy voice. "How did you get a hold of this number."

'Why... _Ziegler_. Through _you_. You gave me _your_ business card remember?'

 **Verdammt**. She must've given her one of the direct emergency ones by mistake. Pinching the bridge of her nose, Angela managed to keep frustrations at bay.

 _Why didn't Fareeha do this the first time… oh right. Ana got a hold of it._

'That hurt. It's almost like you **don't** want to talk to me.'

Exasperation took over Angela, a little desperation clearing leaking through her voice. "What do you want **now**."

A little laugh escaped the other side of the line. Angela waited.

'We have a meeting together. _Tonight._ At 10pm. I'm simply… reminding you.'

Shaking her head, stomping around the kitchen in anger, Angela retorted, pacing around the Spartanesque apartment.

"No **no.** We did not discuss this at all. Not once. You're inventing this."

'Ah, ah, ah. That's a lie~ You agreed to it. It is part of our contract.'

"But… _NO._ It's written on the 29th **monthly**. That stupid meeting should happen next month-"

'Oh so you _remember_ now. Page 5, paragraph three, wasn't it?'

Angela made the mobile go away from her face, scrunching her eyebrows together at the confirmation.

'Still, that's **too** bad. Today IS the twenty ninth. It **is** part of our agreement.'

Sighing loudly in anger, Angela couldn't resist leaving a punch in her next words. "I thought I was spared from seeing your mug for at least a month."

Two little tsks. 'Touchy-touchy. To think **I** am looking forward to seeing _you_.'

"You know that this counts as sexual harassment where I come from, right?"

A little giggle. 'Mm… at least you're getting my advances right. Just replace harassment with **heathen~** '

 **She couldn't believe the audacity. _"YOU-!"_**

'I'll see you tonight~ _I'll come pick you up_.'

 **\- click -**

Angela threw her mobile phone away in frustration, unintentionally pushing a small squeak from the innocent shark plush as she sat down.

Why was she letting this happen? She could phone the police. End it all like that.

 _But the police were not there when I needed them the most._

That striking thought stopped the blonde woman on her tracks. The clock was marked six thirty. She had plenty of time to prepare.

"Pepper spray… taser… switch blade… swiss knife… lipstick. _There_."

She was ready for **war**.

* * *

The Mercedes stopped in front of a German restaurant. It looked modest, but pleasant.

"Wunderbar. How original…"

Stepping inside, Angela looked around.

There was no one but the mafia boss seated in the area. She was wearing a deep bottle green evening dress. Long sleeves revealed a stylish cut near the shoulders, exposed glowing bronze skin hinting at the proudly earned inked symbols hidden beneath them.

The way she pulled it off left Angela absolutely stunned. For a few seconds.

Discreetly, Angela wished she could run her hands down on them once more, a pang in her heart missing the soft caresses they had shared.

And more. So much more than simply that.

The lit candles in the middle did not scream 'important business meeting'. Anything but.

She wore a golden chevron ring with a smaller silver one lying in the middle, oval formed in the shape of bird feathers staying firm on a roused neck. It was matched with priceless bracelets proudly showing the key of the Nile, the Ankh symbol, shining splendidly on both relaxed wrists. Golden braid ornaments mixed with the colour of sky blue swayed gently with a light breeze coming from outside, sparkling brightly in the young Hungarian night sky. The scarlet colour seen in the woman's eyes glowed, in the most beautiful way no other jewel could ever compare to. They could pierce through even her most guarded exterior.

Even here.

"So GLAD you made it Miss Ornstein," Fareeh- the _mobster_ was clearly eager for her arrival. Her elite escorted Angela to the meeting spot. "You're looking **gorgeous** might I add. Please. Make yourself comfortable."

Pitching a calculated smile, Angela sat on the other side of the table.

Fareeha did not return to her seat until Angela made herself comfortable on her own.

Sitting down, she grinned wickedly. "A glass of wine perhaps? Do you like red?"

After a slight nod, Fareeha poured a fresh batch of Merlot into Angela's wine glass.

"You can order anything you want. It's all on me tonight~"

Noticing Angela looking around, Fareeha placed the back of her hand under a sharp chin, lowering her eyelids a little, practically purring her next response. "You noticed. We've got the restaurant all to ourselves. Impressed?"

Angela shrugged, not impressed in the slightest. "My previous date pulled this stunt too."

She was surprised to see curiosity, not annoyance in the mobster's eyes.

"Did he now? And what did you do?"

"I got up and left."

There was hesitance in her voice. "And why aren't you doing this now?"

"Don't tempt me."

"So you won't leave," Fareeha smiled through a long drag. "That's good to know."

"Because you dragged me here. Against my will."

"Stop it. You flatter me Angela. Can I call you Angela?"

"God knows what you'll do next if I leave this place."

"You can. Whenever you wish~"

Angela blinked, processing what she just heard. "You're just fucking with me."

"Language!" Laughing heartily with joyous movements growing on her face, a hardened woman hid slight panic with a charming smile.

Leaning back towards the chair, Fareeha slowly folded her arms, hiding sweating nerves and palms with a few silent taps under the table.

"I'm serious. You can leave."

At that instant, Angela picked up her bag to go. Through her stance, it seemed she would make her leave from the restaurant in a storm. Not once did the elite guards flinch at the reaction.

Neither did their boss.

Taking all the time she needed, Angela slowly sat down on the chair again, reaching nonchalantly for her mobile.

"She."

She noticed the rush of blood started filling the frame of Fareeha's face, ears and neck, complete with a healthy rubor shade the more Angela kept staring.

"Eh."

Angela liked the colour that was adorning on Fareeha's cheeks. Big, brown eyes matched the same colour that was dusting on her dimpled grin and burning ears, leaving her momentarily flustered. It was a little thing. But it was adorable.

Angela wondered if the flushed ebony skin felt hot under her touch.

Shifting her sight towards the brightened mobile screen, Angela's face did not betray any emotion.

"My date was a she."

The elite were guarding Fareeha and her host on the side. Saleh whispered in his native language. 'Listen. Boss is clearly smitten by this outsider… what do you say? Should we intervene? She doesn't seem interested.'

Nisa was a little worried things may get out of hand too. But their boss knew what she was doing. Surely.

'I know. But for now… we don't need to. But I'm just as concerned as you are.'

Angela pretended she couldn't understand them, widening the drinks menu in a non pulsed manner.

Fareeha raised a hand, after wiping them carefully with a napkin.

"Before we dine… would you like to… see the proper menu?"

She was looking a little too eager with that tablet. Angela noted she did not own a tablet on her side.

Sure. Why not. "Yes."

Taking the tablet from Fareeha's hands, Angela realised she was not looking at a menu.

But at a room.

" _Hello spatzli_." And at her-

"Pa- **papa**!"

Angela could not hold back her tears. It had been **years** since she saw him.

A finger traced her father's content expression, his brilliant smile looking almost real.

 _Too real._

" _I'm okay Angela. I've been relocated to Switzerland after that disaster in Denmark."_

The two remaining Zieglers reminisced about better days when…

 _"It was horrible my dear. Somehow **they** found me. Bastards demanded to know where was your location. Took me to a warehouse. They tried everything…" _ Coughing loudly, Fareeha snapped sharply with her fingers, making the cooks in the back hurry to prepare the dishes. _"Anyway müsli, how are yo_ -"

Oh no. She knew **that** look. "Show me."

Fareeha muttered curse words under her breath in Arabic, looking a little worriedly towards the tablet.

" _Spatz_ -"

"Don't call me that now. Show me papa. **Show me what they did to you**."

Angela recoiled in horror when she saw a few missing fingernails on her beloved parent.

" _I didn't talk. No matter what they pulled off. I was locked with Miss Amari next to you. We escaped together."_

So that explains how Fareeha got to know her.

 _She rescues my father here? How **romantic**. Makes me want to vomit in the ice holder._

" _That blasted Doctor Brown… he was the one who inflicted this on me. To think I **knew** him…"_

Paranoia started mounting in Angela's subconscious, brick by brick.

 _I could've done that to MY OWN FATHER?_

 _No. **NO** -_

"Zieg- Helena?"

Fareeha's soothing voice brought Angela back to reality.

"I'm… I'm okay…" How should she call her? "A-Amari."

The smile that escaped the mafiosa could've melted perfect ice. Angela caught herself staring after a few minutes.

" _We can start communicating like this if you wish-"_ Angela quickly glanced back to her beloved parent. "Of course- of **course** papa."

" _Then… I assume Miss Amari is in the same room with you_?"

Gingerly, Angela handed over the tablet back to Fareeha.

A lingering touch did not escape her this time.

"Your daughter is in safe hands Aakesh. I'll make sure of that."

After some more small talk, the conversation ended on a high note.

* * *

It was deep into their well-cooked meals that one of the diner's finally spoke.

"Does my father know?"

"Know what?"

"That you're a mobster."

No hand motion. No booklet. Angela was surprised to have expected that happen.

"…no."

Only the clutter of metal and munching noises could be heard for awhile. "So that's why… that's how he told you about me."

"Yes."

"How…"

"He believes I'm a security guard who was at the wrong place at the wrong time."

"I… I see."

Another round of silence. Fareeha tried breaking the ice again.

"When he showed me your photo, I was surprised. I thought you were- ah. That you'd look… just like him."

Angela remained silent for a while, pouring more liquid into her untouched glass of wine.

"You'd think you, a mobster of colour, would think twice before judging a book by its cover."

Stopping, Fareeha stared at her plate a little. Hesitation clearly covered the gangster's face. After a small inhale, she looked up. The vulnerable stare that followed left the lawyer by surprise, not expecting that at all. "Do you still… find me so detestable?"

 **Yes**.

Another Angela was leaning on a wooden column in a dark corner, finding the romanticised imagination sickening. She was wearing her white coat, her body shape fitted with a beautiful Armani dress. The taint of red in the middle of it was the only colour that did not match the outfit.

 _Yes I **do.** You took my heart away from me and tore it apart._

 _You used me for your amusement, then **left** me without even saying goodbye._

 _I hate you, I'll **loathe** you till the end of my days-!_

The two projections resumed, as the dreamer returned to her senses, wanting this to continue.

"I'm…"

Angela paused, fork still in mouth. After swallowing the bite, she said in honestly.

"Not… so sure anymore."

Was that relief? "Hah. In that case," Fareeha raised her newly filled glass in open happiness. "To the start of our… wonderful partnership. And a good, long lasting amicable one. Heh… dare I hope." Picking a chair next to the projections, Mercy sat down, raising her own glass in a mocking fashion.

 _To **us**._

Angela raised her glass. But did not lean forward for a traditional cheer. Fareeha was not deterred in the slightest. She drank her wine as if they had cinched the glass goblets together in a toast. Without saying another word, Fareeha shook her merlot and sipped down a little from it again.

Only then did Angela down her glass in one gulp.

Fareeha looked surprised, but quickly schooled herself. A knowing gleam was in her eyes.

"You waited until I drank before you touched your glass. Are you sure you're not one of us?"

Fareeha did not mean to spook Angela.

The wine glass in Angela's hand shattered as it hit the floor.

* * *

 _An outburst of shouting and noise surrounded Angela._

 **BOSS-!**

ANGELA-!

 _...used me...decency to admit...ie like the dog you are...!_

 _...that's not what I did... that's not..._

 _...oto...EVERYONE WORKS FOR...YING TO ME...!_

 _...I am no dog..._

 _I didn't tell you to leave_

* * *

 _I am no one's dog_

* * *

A slight wheeze broke out of Angela, breath coming in separate parts. Colours, sound and surroundings slowly made sense again.

"You should've told us," Fareeha was gently cradling her. Angela felt the cold tiles of the floor against her body. "If Hassan didn't have a spare inhaler, we would've taken you straight to the hospital."

The inhaler-? Shit. She left hers at home-!

"Forgive my elite for rummaging through your bag. We were all in panic. At least…"

A crooked grin made out of hesitancy involuntary made Angela feel… more than simply safe. _Against my wishes._

"You're okay now."

Taking Fareeha's hand, Angela fixed her pair of glasses, meaning what she said.

"Thank you."

Angela saw her mobster self slowly walk towards her, wincing as Helena held her chest.

 _Keep up your guard._

The projection knew that was said for the both of them.

Seeing the link between her and the real world vanish, she stared back into the eyes of her love.

She didn't say those horrible words here. She could stay. Fareeha **will** stay.

Just a little longer.

 _Just a little more…_

* * *

For the next two months, nothing particularly interesting happened. She kept attending those 'meetings'.

After the first night, she obtained a renewed link with her beloved father. Anywhere, however possible, she always managed to find time to contact him.

The second night, she received another gift.

Angela now had a light blue parakeet for a pet. It was well trained. She bought a small cage for the critter. She named him Nemesis.

As a reminder of _whom_ _exactly_ she was receiving protection from. And from WHAT.

The third… oh well. Time to call a spade a spade. At the third date, Fareeha took her to a high-class dinner. The set menu was French themed. She was polite, abet a little flirtier now. _She's getting bolder. Like how I did with… her. Eventually._

So did she. Angela ditched the glasses for that night. Wore her best perfume.

The only weapon she possessed in her bag was her inhaler. And simply terrifying dry wit.

The scents and warmth of the foyer made Angela almost want to stay there forever.

They discussed about current events. A little about the law firm, a few cases, solved, unresolved…

"I think I preferred you with your glasses on."

Pausing at the meal, Angela got curious. This was the first time anyone told her that.

"Why is that?"

"Well… you looked wonderful with them. But without them… I got to admit," She gave a little chuckle, giving a look as if she was about to give away a precious secret. "You look absolutely stunning. I could fight some competition off because of those gorgeous eyes."

Ignoring her pleased mirk by focusing on the food, Angela let out a little smile, to show the comment didn't annoy her.

"Smooth talker. Your eyes aren't so bad either." She mentally counted ten seconds before Fareeha paused from writing into her 'dreaded' black book.

"You do?"

"I wouldn't say so otherwise." That's why I'm still here. _As am I._

It didn't take long to realise Fareeha was still looking at her after that little comment. Arching an eyebrow, she pointedly said, "You just gave me a compliment. Should I take it?"

Letting out a smile against her will, Angela continued the word play. "You could."

"Oh? Does this mean I finally have a chance?"

Patting the sides of her mouth with a napkin gently, Angela let the soft atmosphere do the talking.

Fareeha, surprisingly, did not press on for an answer. But her eyes smiled, alongside a cheerful body language emitting all around the mobster.

After dinner, they left the hotel foyer side by side, chatting a little more to prolong the evening.

* * *

Once outside, Angela received something very special.

"This… is my family symbol. It comes from my grandfather. It will… protect you by wearing it." Tracing the Wadjet necklace with her fingers, Angela noticed Fareeha looked afar, into the street, trying to hide a blush. Keyword: tried. The bright street light didn't exactly help Fareeha's attempt.

Smiling at the heated ears she could see through the puddle of water beside them, Angela knew this was a big deal. She didn't need to be a genius to figure out the necklace was a warning to anyone tied to the Mafia world. If she chooses to wear it, anyone messing with her would mess with… "If I wear it… can I still back out from our agreement?"

Leaning slightly towards her, a longing stare lasted for a second. "Do… you want to?"

Both were silent for a moment. Running a hand through her shortened hair, Angela nodded. "Only if I have to."

Gulping slightly, the mafia boss placed the precious symbol onto Angela. She flinched when Fareeha's fingers accidentally brushed the right side of her nape.

"I'm sorry, did I-"

"No, no it's alright." The touch stung a little bit, the pain pulsing through her veins.

 ** _They_** _didn't kidnap her here. She was safe. She was safe…_

Fareeha's dark eyes became serious, looking directly at her. "I didn't hurt you, did I."

"No. I'd… I'd tell you if you did."

 _I did. **I** did…_

 _I'm so sorry. I'm so…_

Brushing the mafia sigillo with delicate fingers, Angela looked upwards, towards Fareeha.

"It suits you."

Her face visibly brightening, Angela was unable to shake off the feeling of being caught by the Amari boss' beauty. She was tempted to-

 ** _NO._** _N… no. Please._

Listening to herself, Angela looked to the other side quietly, waiting until her cab arrived. Thanking Fareeha, she entered the vehicle, looking back this time around. Silently, she looked across, admiring the city lights from the back of the well driven cab.

Giving the Wajdet symbol another light caress, Angela wondered if she **could** back out now.

* * *

Saleh gave the boss a minute for herself before approaching her, noting a hazy, half-dreamy smile still visibly plastered all over Pharah's face.

"Genji's men have been spotted boss. At the outskirts of Basel. What should we do next?"

Waiting until the cab left her sight, Fareeha went back into business mode.

"Keep an eye on them. Make sure any foot solider from both sides do not catch a whiff about Ziegler Senior's current location or Miss Orenstein's true identity," Making speed messages, Fareeha threw her mobile phone towards Saleh, "Make sure to relocate Aakesh to a safehouse by tonight. As far as anyone's concerned, I am dating a lawyer from Hungary. Anyone finding out more about her, I'll have you and the other elites as the source to follow. **Make sure** that doesn't happen."

Saluting his boss, Saleh quickly made arrangements concerning Angela's father.

 _I don't know if you'll become this kind of boss. I'm sure you can. But… I did want to keep you to myself…_

 _For as long as possible…_

"Boss!"

Fareeha turned around. It was Nisa. She looked extremely agitated.

"Please don't tell me Helena already left-!"

Nisa was usually always calm no matter what the situation. This is bad.

"What happened Nisa? Tell us immediately."

Helping her recuperate from heaving breath, the elite solider felt panic building around her. "It's Hassan! He's gravely injured boss. He said he was ambushed!"

The anger boiling from Fareeha's stance could've melted molten steel. "By whom?"

"I'll tell you everything in the car! We have to go, quick-! There isn't a moment to lose!" Starting the Mercedes, quick as lighting, Nisa expectantly reversed 270 degrees and stomped down the gas pedal. Any other time, Fareeha would've enjoyed the getaway talents of the former racer.

"Nisa. Tell me **now**. What happened to Hassan?"

Nisa had to be calmed down by Saleh before properly talking in an understanding manner. "He, he was making his patrol around Miss Helena's apartment. Then… you won't fucking believe it boss. _Hanzo's_ goons. They beat the **shit** out of him. Somehow, they must've found her location!"

Fuck! **She was right with them!** The night she didn't ask to take her home-!

"How is he-?!"

"He managed to escape. Barely. He told me he was attacked by six of Hanzo's men. He doesn't know if there are more. Or if… or if their **boss** is nearby. We need to be careful, this could be a trap!"

 **Fuck traps.** "Go faster! We have to reach Angela before they do!"

"Yes boss!"

Shifting gears, Nisa went for the traffic clear road, hoping to reach destination before the cab.

* * *

Angela returned to her apartment building, humming a song she recalled from the hotel. It's true. A few months before, Angela wouldn't have bothered to give a person like Fareeha a trace of her shadow. She recalled their agreement at the Luna Park with a small beam on her face.

Funny how things change…

Who would've thought to find good company in a mobster who wasn't… boring?

Recalling her opinion on Fareeha only a few months prior, Helena simply couldn't help but smile.

Exiting the elevator entrance, Angela kept humming at a low key to not disturb her neighbours. She had noticed how Fareeha fidgeted with her long, black coat, despite Angela wearing her own. It was a bit light, sure… perhaps she noticed the cool breeze was making her feel cold?

Angela unconsciously went for the side of her face where her glasses usually reside.

It suits you. That's what she said.

Perhaps Angela can finally stop wearing those blasted spectacles and-

And… finally be herself… after all this…

At the far end of the corridor, a light chill went through plain curtains, making goose bumps go all over Angela from her neck till her spine. Spying the outline of her apartment door, she could tell it was left slightly ajar. She clearly remembered locking it before leaving for her meeting with Faree-

A black, gloved hand covering her whole mouth was all what Angela could feel and see for a moment.

"Ssh. It's me. Don't wo-"

Instincts from self-defence lessons taking over, Angela pivoted her elbow square into the person's ribs, making him- her? emit a loud gasp of pain in air. Taking advantage of being momentarily free, she grabbed her assailant's arm and pulled at the opposite direction, making the shadowed figure make a small yell through gritted teeth. Angela twisted the blow further, wanting answers.

"Bastards! You will not take me away **this** time-! Talk or I'll break your fucking arm off-!"

" **It's m-me**! _It's me Helena!_ **L-let go-!"**

Recognising both the voice and the person's terrified face, Helena instantly let go of the arm.

Letting out a silent scream, Fareeha held her recovered arm (and pride) like she possessed precious porcelain antiques that could break at any minute.

"I'm- I'm so sorry! A-are you okay?"

Waving with her other arm, Fareeha was simply glad to be free of that serious joint lock.

"Oh… oh you have a strong grip… _not sure if I like that or not_ … ow, ow, **_ow_** …"

Wiping off fresh tears, Fareeha started leading Angela towards the exit, making a silence motion once more.

Angela followed, waiting until the elevator closed its door before- Fareeha went down on her knees, a small whine making the lawyer return to her proper roots. "Breathe in, breathe out. Make circular motions… like this... yes, that's it… oh I'm so sorry... really, **really**..."

Wiping smaller tears with her sleeve, Fareeha stood up, back on her two feet.

"No-not to worry. Maybe I shouldn't have been as worried- _fuck_. Angela. We need to go."

"They're _here_ aren't they?" One firm nod made Angela feel her insides grow cold like a corpse. "Can we leave?"

"Yes. But we gotta be quick. I've got our disguises. We'll use one of their bikes and rendezvous with Nisa."

"Disguises?"

Making a silencing motion through an index finger, they waited until the elevator doors opened, standing by the box's sides. Hearing the bell ring they reached their exit, Fareeha led Angela into a dark corner. Two of the Yakuza's men where hidden in the shadows, stacked on one another to be invisible to the naked eye.

Lowering her voice shy from being completely silent, Fareeha pointed towards the knocked out henchmen, remaining wary of their surroundings.

'These cunts were planning to ambush you in the elevator. They didn't expect **me**. They look our sizes. Come on!'

Angela kept staring at the goons, the reality of getting kidnapped freezing the lawyer's stance.

"Are they-?"

'No. Unconscious. They barely put up a fight against me. It was a good warm up.'

Hoping the dark lighting hid Angela's surprise, the lawyer waited until her driver was ready from wearing the disguise. Fareeha returned from the shadows wearing the Yakuza henchmen's clothing. 'Do you have your belongings on you?'

Angela held onto her precious purse. 'Yes.' By pure co-incidence.

'Then there's no need to return to the apartment.'

But! "But the bir-!"

' **Helena.** I approached the apartment before. It didn't make a sound. They probably snapped the bird's neck. I didn't give it to you for nothing.'

Letting out a sad sigh, she understood. Hurrying up, Angela spared a moment to spit onto the Yakuza's subordinate's face before taking his clothes. Fareeha gave her a helmet, the disguise clearly a few sizes smaller than the mobster's used to. But in the darkness, it was good enough.

'Wear it. I'll do the talking in case we're caught. Or… do you speak Japanese?'

'I understand it.'

'Stay silent for now then. Now we gotta do the hard part. There probably are Hanzo's men patrolling the roof. We have to act as cool as possible. Are you with me?'

Nodding, Angela wore the helmet above her dyed hair, the shorted length being a blessing.

'Good. You're better than me. How am I going to fit all this-'

"Open the jacket."

'Eh?'

 _'Just do it.'_

Opening the jacket, Angela reached out for Fareeha's hair, gently tucking parts in the helmet, parts under the popped collar. She would've enjoyed the silky texture under better circumstances. Fareeha seemed not to mind the too brief interlude.

Silently thanking her, both women didn't waste time in leaving.

Neither noticed one of the boxer wearing Yakuza members slowly recovering from the knock out.

* * *

Angela followed Fareeha's guidance like a new born puppy. Or a duckling. A duckling would be a better description.

The night summer sky was a warm welcome. She was glad they were finally outsid-

"-Oi! You two down there!-"

The two runways looked up stoically towards the rooftop. One member of Hanzo's notorious east gang was there.

"-Did you find the doctor? I saw her coming in from here. Surely you haven't missed her somehow?-"

Fareeha made sure to leave her distinctive accent out from slipping, calm as the skies around them.

"-We got her. She's tied up at the first floor. We have to go to our boss, tell him the good news.-"

The Yazuka member made a noise of glee from above, making Angela feel sick. 'Don't worry,' Fareeha whispered softly to her, her words gentle, but dripping with suppressed rage towards Hanzo's henchmen. 'By the time he realises his payload won't come, we'll be long gone to safety.'

Climbing onto the bike, Fareeha started the Kawasaki Ninja with an expert tool, starting the engine.

'Hop on Doc. Stay calm. I'll make a quick route, then we'll go home.'

'Where?'

Holding the lower part of the bike, Angela was tempted to encircle her arms around Fareeha.

But that would make their identities too obvious. Yakuza tend to not hug their co-workers.

'Home. Back to Gibraltar.'

 _The Amari Docks?_

Again with that disarming smile. "Your new ho-"

"- _That's them! That's them!_ -"

A half-naked man busted out from the apartment building, uncaring about his state of clothing, heart boxers included. Wiping his face constantly, he pointed furiously towards the fugitives in disguise, staring towards the rooftops.

"-Don't let them get away Testuso! One of them is our target-! Aim for the wheels!-"

 ** _"Shit!"_**

Acting as quick as lightning, the armed forces patrolling the rooftops all aimed their guns towards the run-away's bike, aiming for the wheels. Fareeha was too fast for their bullets to strike.

But not fast enough to avoid one stray bullet landing into her shoulder.

 **"FUCK-!"**

 **Author's Notes**

 **Keep? Cut? Expand? Yes/No/Maybe/I Don't Know/Can You Repeat The Question?**

 **Oh well. Maybe I'll expand on Berserk and B &tB again. I miss those **


End file.
